


Jacaranda

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, Dreams, Epic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magic, Mirror Sex, Mystery, Road Trips, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Dean's been dreaming again.Every night, he is in some perfect paradise he doesn't recognize, dreaming of peace. Every morning, he's back in the usual grind. More and more, he finds himself unraveling, unable to tell the difference between what's a dream and what is real.An epic roadtrip across the United States to solve the mystery of Dean's dreamlife reveals the daily reality of a drifter's life on the American road, and a search for a solution that will bring Dean back to real life -that is, if he still wants to come home.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 90
Kudos: 65





	1. The Tree

_The tree's branches hang heavy with purple flowers._

_There is a soft breeze. It carries the scent on the wind._

_Blossoms fall._

_Dean closes his eyes and inhales the delicious fragrance._

_Not because he likes flowers, but -_

_this is a place where all worries are ended._

_He feels at peace. He lacks nothing. The noise in his head is quiet now. He can think clearly._

_Somehow, he knows his brother is nearby. Safe, and happy._

_He also knows without a doubt that the angel Castiel is here with him._

_The light is soft, the air is pleasant. It is late evening, in some Mediterranean garden._

_The sun is setting, and he has the sense that he will soon be joining friends and family at a feast._

_Happiness is his constant state. He feels like a cool, clear pond, still water on a warm day._

_Confident._

_Safe._

_At peace._

_At last._

***

Dean woke himself with a gasped breath.

As if something didn't want him to find solace, even in dreams.

The noise of his head poured in, just as it always did every single morning since he could remember.

He remembered all the bad he'd done. The things he'd said. The people he couldn't save.

Just like every day. Hell, sometimes he'd be up with a gun or a knife in his hand before he really knew where he was or what had startled him. Sometimes he'd come to and realize that he'd been pointing the gun at Sam.

But all those other things, those regrets -

they poured into Dean Winchester's mind first, before anything else, before he even realized that he was holding a weapon.

Because calibrating the person that was Dean meant a good heavy dose of self-hatred.

Or he wouldn't be him.

He grit his teeth.

_Find a case. Find something to fight._

The litany of the wrong he'd done followed him all the way into the bathroom, through his morning piss, through brushing his teeth.

Every day that passed, the ritual torture his mind put him through took longer and longer.

Dean supposed it had a hell of a lot of ground to cover.

But God, he wished it would shut the hell up sometimes.

***

Sam had always been more put-together than him. Less self-hatred, more a dismissal of the world outside that huge brain of his. Dean would never understand it.

"What's up?" Sam asked, returning from his inexplicable morning run to their current motel. "You look like something's eating you."

Dean laughed a little.

"Nothin'," he said. "Nothin' like that, anyway. Good to be back on the road."

"Really?" asked Sam, grabbing clean clothes and a towel for his shower. "You missed this? These motels are pretty gross, Dean."

"Better than living underground," said Dean. "And yeah. I do. I like bein' on the road with you."

"Sure," said Sam. "I'm gonna jump in the shower. Then we can talk when I'm out, if you want."

"I don't want," said Dean.

"Tough," said Sam, grinning, and disappeared into the bathroom.

 _Kid's always wanting to talk,_ thought Dean. 

_Hell. Maybe it's time to change my tune on that one, too._

But by the time Sam emerged from the shower, the topic of conversation had moved on to the next hunt.

***

Dean was happy. Or, well. He was content at the moment.

He loved this aspect of the job, driving with his brother to work a case. That's how it had begun, that's how it should be to the end, he always thought.

They were staying in Portland, Oregon. Sam had wanted to go and see Powell's Books because he was a huge nerd and _Dean, they have an antique book section with an original copy of Dracula_.

Dean had declined Sam's invitation to join him and was waiting in a nearby café he'd heard about, the Roxy. 

Known for its surly staff, mediocre food and bad coffee, Dean was in heaven.

The Roxy had a giant crucifix on the wall and the place was painted a deep red.

It sure reminded Dean of aspects of heaven and hell.

He ordered biscuits and gravy to go with his coffee. The waiter didn't much care. Dean thought the whole gimmick was great. It must be nice to be able to mouth off to customers and not fear any repercussion.

There was a reason Dean had always been self-employed.

Many reasons. But this was definitely one of them. He'd never been great at keeping his mouth shut, and in this economy, mouthiness got you kicked off a job. It's why he chose warehouse day work, when he chose to work. Pay was decent, people kept to themselves, he could bring in enough to pay for food, gas, motels for a little while when the pool hustling ran dry.

Of course, Dean had done other things for money. But warehouse work didn't leave scars, mental and sometimes physical.

Spiritual scars, too, if there was such a thing.

_Fwup-whup._

"Oh, here we go," muttered Dean.

Castiel stood beside his table, staring at him.

His gaze slowly climbed to the wall where the giant crucifix was hanging.

If he'd looked like a summer squall coming in to ruin Dean's good time, now he looked like a tempest.

"Calm your tits," said Dean. "Take a seat. It's a part of their whole schtick, okay? Being mildly offensive is the done thing here."

"That is hardly what I would call _mildly_ offensive," said Castiel, but he sat down anyway, tucking his trenchcoat in to slide into the booth across from Dean.

"So what's shakin'?" asked Dean, not daring to look Castiel in the eye as he took a drink of coffee and stared down at the table.

"Dean, you haven't answered my calls in days," said Castiel.

"Yeah, well," said Dean. 

He didn't have anything more than that.

Cas was just pissing him off these days, okay? He felt uncomfortable having him around.

It reminded Dean that he was getting older. He wasn't twenty-six anymore.

He wasn't even thirty-six anymore.

Something about the angel reminded him of the march of time, and the strange lonely feeling he got when he sat by himself in his room at the bunker, listening to Zeppelin records and getting the impression that his life was just going around and around in one preordained groove until the end.

"Sorry, Cas," said Dean. "Guess I've been absentminded."

"In your line of business, _absentminded_ could get you killed," said Castiel. "I had important information to share, Dean, and you know these things can be time-sensitive."

"Okay, okay," said Dean. "You're right. I was being an ass. So what is it this time? Lay it on me."

"Have you been having strange dreams lately?"


	2. The Road Out

Dean was in a foul mood.

First, he got lost in the knotwork of roads leading out of Portland.

Then, a damned semi tried to run him off the road.

Impatient bastard.

If he could, he'd close his eyes and go back to that garden in his dreams.

But he couldn't. He was driving.

So he settled for being a local raincloud in the Impala.

Now, they were stopped in traffic on the freeway.

"I'm never gonna get out of this fuckin' town," he growled.

Sam turned in his seat to look at Castiel, whose serenity was pissing Dean off even more.

"Cas, you think it's an accident or something?" he asked. "Can you fly up and check?"

"No need," said Castiel placidly. "There's a three-car pileup. They'll get it cleaned up within an hour. Until then, we're stuck."

Horns sounded here and there on the freeway. Dean breathed an irritated sigh.

"What has gotten into you?" Sam demanded. "You've been like this all day."

_I was in paradise this morning,_ Dean thought. _Now I'm in a traffic jam outside of Portland._

"Nothin'," Dean said. "Sorry."

"It's not _nothin',_ " Sam parroted. "What's going on?"

Dean hedged for a while. When Castiel had asked him about dreams, he'd made some kind of sex joke. Which didn't help matters much, since it was Castiel he was talking to, and he _certainly_ didn't need the dude dreamwalking in on -

on, well, stuff he shouldn't be walking in on, dreams or otherwise.

Dean hadn't had privacy inside his own head since Cas came along. From what Cas said, he'd never really had it. So private thoughts weren't all that private, and never had been.

But Dean was going to hold onto the last semblance of a normal life he had, and dreams - along with private thoughts - were one of those things.

"Something is clearly bothering you, Dean," Castiel said from the backseat. "Maybe you should let us know what's on your mind."

Dean squeezed his eyes closed.

"There's nowhere to run," said Sam. "So out with it."

"Okay," Dean said. "Okay. Fine. I've been having these dreams."

"Now he tells us."

"Will you shut up, Sam? You want the details or not?"

"Sorry."

"I have dreams that we're in a garden together. It's nice. It smells nice. It's calm and quiet and safe. I always get the impression we're going to have dinner together with everyone we love. And, uh. Then I wake up."

There was dead silence following this admission.

Dean opened his eyes.

Castiel looked surprised. Sam's eyes were wet.

"Aw, shit," Dean muttered.

"That's - "

"Not what I expected," Castiel finished.

Sam nodded.

"Yeah."

"So will you leave me the hell alone now?" Dean demanded. "A man's thoughts are private!" 

"Sure, Dean. Sorry."

***

The traffic finally let up after about an hour, just like Cas had said.

They drove on across Oregon, Dean swearing that he'd never return to Portland again. If there was a case, some other hunter could handle it.

He pulled in for gas, partly for the excuse to stretch his legs, partly to get some coffee inside him, but mostly because he was feeling stifled in the car with his brother and his angel.

_His_ angel. He grinned a little at that. Presumptuous, but the other angels and even monsters had said it, so.

Dean went into the bathroom, which was nasty just like all gas station bathrooms tended to be. He splashed water on his face, and looked at those bright green eyes in the mirror.

He'd never found himself good-looking, despite the bravado.

But he thought his eyes were his best feature.

Now, they were bracketed by crow's feet.

He wasn't scoring so much at the bars, these days. He didn't know if he could blame it on age, or a certain blue-eyed angel that had shown up in his fantasies one day and then just - 

stayed.

Dean wished he would, for real. 

Stay, that is. But he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Dean wished he knew what was rattling him so bad. None of this stuff was new, just the same old pile of crap he dealt with every day.

Something inside him was changing. Something fundamental. He was certain of it.

But it was too vague to bother the others with. Not enough evidence to go on.

He left the bathroom no wiser than he'd entered it.

***

"Dude, did you see they have _milkshake machines?_ " crowed Dean, coffee in one hand, car keys in the other, as Sam emerged from the store. "I remember when you were lucky to find a sad old banana in a basket on the counter."

"Yeah, and you always bought it for me," Sam said, smiling.

"That's 'cause you've always been a health nut, even as a kid," said Dean.

Sam shrugged.

"There's a reason I'm built like this and you're," Sam said, "let's face it, Dean, getting a little pudgy around the middle."

Dean's smile faded a little.

"Am not," he said, well aware that Sam was right.

"Relax," said Sam. "It's nothing much. Wouldn't kill you to eat a salad sometimes, though."

"You don't know that," said Dean. "Roadside diner salads are disgusting. They sit out all day. People reach right under the sneeze guard, Sam, I've seen it!"

"You've always been such a germophobe," said Sam.

"Germs are gross, Sam," said Dean. "Part of being healthy is avoiding germs. Believe me. You don't wanna try this cross-country shit on a stomach bug."

"Wisdom for the ages," said Sam. "Did you have one of the milkshakes?"

Dean gave him a guilty look.

"Maybe."

"Come on, let's get moving," said Sam, opening the door with a creak. "If we're gonna check out that report in Sun Valley tomorrow, I'd like to get to the state border by sundown."

Dean looked down at his midsection, then clutched his coffee cup and opened his own door, which also creaked.

"Damn," he said. "I really gotta oil these hinges."

***

They made it to a motel just outside Boise late that night.

Dean found himself looking forward to a good night's sleep more than he had in years.

"I'm turnin' in," he said. "Cas, you stayin' or what?"

"No," said Castiel. "I'm going to look into this dream incident."

"What exactly is it?" asked Sam.

"Come on, guys, no work at night," Dean complained.

"What are you talking about? We always work at night."

Dean kept quiet. He just _really_ wanted go to sleep.

"Reports of sleeping-sickness have been coming in from all over the globe," said Castiel. "Certain individuals, nothing consistent that I can see."

"Sleeping-sickness?" asked Sam. "That's the zombie thing? Where people sleep for years?"

Castiel nodded.

"Yes," he said. "And they don't wake up. No one knows why. It's been a while since the last of these incidents, but - "

"They're cropping up again."

"Any idea why, or what the connection might be?"

Castiel studied the ceiling.

"It seems," he said, "although I don't have confirmation yet, that it is only happening to certain people."

"Somethin' you're not tellin' us, Cas?" Dean prodded.

"People who are capable of being angelic vessels," said Castiel. "They go to sleep, and they don't wake up. And we don't know why."

"They don't die, though?" asked Sam.

"No," said Castiel. "It's not like a djinn dream, where they are being drained or held against their will. They go willingly, and they just - don't come back."

"So that's why you were asking me about dreams?" asked Dean.

Castiel nodded.

"The two of you are in danger," he said. "And it's a danger I am unlikely to be able to rescue you from. I didn't want to return one day and find that you were - "

He swallowed against some undescribed emotion.

"Gone."

Dean felt that need to sleep pull at him again the way the whisky often called to him.

And Dean was an alcoholic. He knew that for a fact. 

He also knew that he should _always_ be suspicious of things that gave him that feeling of itching desire, because he knew that addiction rode on its coattails.

"So if there is anything you want to tell me," said Castiel, "I suggest you do it now."

Sam gave Dean a puzzled look.

"No, Cas," he said. "Nothing like that."

"And Dean?" 

Two pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

Dean felt his palms sweating. He rubbed them against his jeans.

"No, nothin'," he said. "Nothin' like that at all."

Some things, a man's gotta keep for himself.


	3. Sleep

_The night was soft and warm._

_The music played across the square, distant enough to provide background, close enough to hear._

_The table was filled with every good thing. Cheeseburgers, barbecued ribs, roast chestnuts; whisky, wine, and beer. There were at least five different kinds of pie, all piled high with whipped cream._

_Every seat at the table was full, and all the faces so familiar. Friends and family, though he couldn't make them out in the low candlelight. But there was one face where he could see every detail, and that was Castiel's._

_Dean was laughing, his plate still half-full of some kind of apple pie-crumble hybrid. The cinnamon and sugar crunched sweetly against his teeth as he took a bite._

_He reached a hand out across the table, and Castiel, whose plate was filled with blueberry pie, took his hand and twined their fingers together._

_Castiel's lips were tinted blue with the berries, and Dean leaned over to kiss him gently, tasting the sweet flavor._

_Above them, the purple trees were heavy with blossom, and moved gently in the wind._

***

Dean woke slowly, as he kept trying to resist it, fighting against returning to consciousness all the way back up.

He was half-hard - _from a kiss, Winchester? you in high school again or what?_ \- and was glad to find that he was sleeping on his stomach.

But he was sorely disappointed to find himself exactly where he had been the night before, on the worse side of an old, sagging motel bed with its springs poking him in the side. 

He squinted through one eye and raised his head to see his brother sitting at the little motel table, listlessly tapping away at his laptop.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," said Sam. "I thought you were gonna sleep the whole day away."

"Huh?" asked Dean, wiping his mouth. "What time is it?"

"It's eleven," said Sam.

Dean shot up in bed.

"What the hell, Sam?" he demanded. "Why didn't you wake me up? We're gonna have to pay for another night here."

"First of all, we've already paid," Sam told him. "Second, you really can't live on four hours of sleep, Dean. It's not healthy. So I figured I'd let you rest."

Dean sighed, irritated.

"Yeah? And what about you?" he groused at Castiel, who had just walked in the door. "You weren't worried that I got the sleeping-sickness?"

"Your brother is right," said Castiel. "You need to rest more. Do you know that you're missing at least three years of sleep?"

Dean blinked at him.

"Ain't that a hell of a thing," he said. Then Castiel handed him a cup of coffee, along with Sam.

"Damn, you're using the angel to do coffee delivery?" Dean asked his brother. "That's low, even for you."

"Dean - " Sam started, but then shook his head and just drank his coffee.

"That's what I thought," said Dean, and took a sip. He sighed. "Gas station coffee. Black as tar, always the best."

In the morning light streaming into the motel window, Dean could have sworn he saw Castiel give him a soft, fond smile.

Not that he was looking, or anything.

***

"So what are we hunting?" asked Dean, now that he had some coffee in him and was angling for doughnuts next.

" _We_ are doing a routine salt-n-burn," said Sam. "Overenthusiastic fan haunting the Sun Valley ice rink. Celebrities go there all the time. There was a show, Brian Boitano and Katarina Witt, back in the 90s. Fan got crushed in a freak Zamboni accident trying to get to them after the show."

"Okay," said Dean. "Let me get some doughnuts in me and -"

"No way," said Sam. "You're staying here."

"The hell I am."

"Dean, you've been nothing but a pain in the ass since Portland," Sam told him. "You've been a jerk to me and to Cas. You bitched for like, _an hour_ because we didn't stop at Red Robin to get fries and a strawberry lemonade!"

"Hey, you're the one always telling me to eat healthier!" argued Dean.

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Strawberries and lemons are healthy," Dean subsided. 

"Look," said Sam, and oh no, here was the _I'm your brother, I care about you_ speech, "You're getting older, and you can't just survive on four hours of sleep anymore. Especially with your drinking."

"Wow, way to pile it on a guy first thing in the morning," said Dean.

"It's noon."

"You know what I mean."

"Anyway," said Sam firmly, "since we can't go on a vacation, this is it. I am banning you from hunts unless it's absolutely necessary. Get some sleep!"

"And neither of you are at all concerned about what Cas said, about sleeping-sickness?" Dean asked.

"Of course I am, Dean," said Sam. "But I also know that you clearly need rest. So don't look a gift horse in the mouth, okay?"

"But -"

"I can handle it," said Castiel, reappearing with a box -

not just of _powdered doughnuts,_ but _powdered doughnut holes -_

and Dean looked up at him, bathed in the sunlight from the window like a stained-glass angel.

"You're awesome, Cas," Dean said. Cas gave him a less-than-impressed look, but Dean was already into the box.

"Let's go, Sam," said Castiel. "We'll return to check on you later."

"See ya," said Dean, and the motel room door closed behind them.

***

It wasn't long after the entire box of doughnut holes was polished off that Dean decided to take his awesome brother's advice and get some rest.

He curled up in the bed under the covers, warm in the sunlight like a cat.

Soon enough, he had slipped into a dream.

***

_"Cas?" Dean said, as they walked hand in hand down the avenue of purple trees, their scent heady in the evening. The sun was setting over the ocean, turning the world shadow and gold._

_"Yes?" Castiel asked, looking out over the sea, and then at Dean. The late sun lit up his indigo eyes in brilliance, casting shadows on the sharp angles of his face._

_Dean breathed deep. Castiel was beautiful._

_"Are we in danger here?" Dean asked him._

_Castiel smiled, and caressed his cheek. It felt like the kiss of a breeze; soft and welcoming, sweet and warm._

_"Of course not," he said, smiling. "You know I would never let you come to harm."_

_Dean smiled back, a little bashful._

_"I know," he said._

_Sam was standing in the distance by one of the balconies that overlooked the sea. There was a female silhouette by his side. Dean wasn't sure why, because he couldn't see her face, but he knew that was Sam's wife._

_Somewhere, their parents were preparing dinner. Bobby would be there. Ellen and Jo and Ash._

_Everyone._

_Dean looked at Castiel, as the shadows moved and the sun sank slowly below the horizon._

_A flash of green filled the sky, just for a moment._

_"Sailors believe the green flash is a portent of good luck," said Castiel._

_"They're right," said Dean. "I've got all I need, right here._ "

***

In the motel room bed, Dean slept on.

Through the afternoon, and into the night.

He usually woke at the slightest movement or sound - years of hunter training, of PTSD burned into his own bones, just as he had burned so many others.

He usually woke at the slightest provocation.

Not this time.


	4. Jacaranda

_"Cas, can I ask you a question?"_

_"Always, my love."_

_Dean ducked his head, bashful. A thrill ran through him when Cas said things like that. Not like it was new. Still got him right in the heart._

_"Where are we?"_

_Castiel looked up at the sky, where the stars now glittered past the tops of the trees. He looked around at the cobblestones, the pathways through the forest, the little bower where they were sitting and playing hooky from the family and friends who were still laughing together at table nearby. The little grove was fragrant with flowers, the night filled with the joy of friendship and cameraderie._

_"Why," said Castiel, "we're in Heaven, of course."_

_Dean laughed._

_"C'mon, Cas, for real," he said. "I've been to Heaven, it's a shitshow."_

_Castiel's fond chuckle warmed him from the inside out._

_"Oh, not that ridiculous sandbox," said Castiel. "That angry little creature has a temper tantrum when things don't go his way. But he's just one of many, of course. A powerful one, but his aspirations to total godhood are about as foolish as mine once were, within his universe."_

_"Are you tellin' me that we're children of a lesser God?" asked Dean._

_"Insofar as you could call that creature such a thing, yes," said Castiel. "He is a creator. But so are all artists. And there are gods beyond even them."_

_"So this place is - "_

_"Heaven. The real heaven. Where all good things go."_

_Dean was overwhelmed._

_"So there's not, like - doors, or - or," he began, trying to explain how he felt about the heaven he knew._

_Castiel just gave him a soft, sad smile._

_"No, Dean," he said. "This Heaven is real."_

***

Dean woke.

He immediately wished he hadn't.

But nice dreams were one thing, and his job was another.

He got up and went to the bathroom, emerging afterwards in search of coffee again. He recalled Castiel's morning delivery and realized that if he wanted coffee, this time he'd have to go and get it himself.

Dean sighed, and then got dressed.

Then he paused.

Something wasn't quite right.

He surveyed the room slowly. Everything looked normal, down to the empty doughnut box and coffee cups strewn about the place.

There was just something...off.

Years of honing hunter instincts made Dean never, _ever_ doubt that feeling.

"I'm gonna regret this," he said, and lifted the bed skirt to look underneath it.

To his shock and amazement, the floor beneath the bed was clean.

"Damn," he said, impressed. "I'm leavin' a tip for the maid."

He stood up and looked around again.

"I _know_ somebody's been in here," he growled to himself. 

But if so, he could find no evidence of it.

His hackles were raised all the same.

***

Around an hour later, Castiel and Sam returned, the Impala's headlights dancing across the inside of the motel room where Dean was watching reruns of _Bonanza._

Dean's pop culture knowledge was similar to Castiel's in some ways. He knew a lot about anything a kid might pick up during long, boring days at a motel on the fuzzy channels, reruns of old shows like _Star Trek_ or talk shows like _Oprah._ But it was selective, because he'd never had the opportunity to learn. So the things he enjoyed tended to relate to the things he'd picked up over the years on tv and never really ventured beyond it.

Sam, of course, knew a shit-ton more, because he'd had more idle time. As a kid, Dean had shielded him from a lot of the worst of hunting (and of John, to be honest). When Sam ran off to Stanford he had ample opportunity to nerd the hell out and he did. Dean just tried playing catch-up to the things that Sam liked.

He did the same with Charlie, and other friends. He had little to no interest in all this nerd crap but he cared about his friends and his family, and took a keen interest in whatever they were into because of it.

Dean had lived a life where liking or wanting things for his own sake was not an option.

Especially this secret, dangerous thing he'd been harboring for Castiel. 

If Dean Winchester had ever done anything presumptuous in his life, it was the deep, strange hope that Castiel might love him back, just a little, the way he did in Dean's dreams. 

But that was all ridiculous, and he knew it. 

So he hummed along to _Bonanza_ as his brother and the angel of his dreams walked in the door, talking about the latest successful hunt.

And Dean kept his dreams to himself.

***

"You think you got enough rest yesterday?" asked Sam. "There's a job out in Utah I want to look into. People disappearing, white flash in the sky."

Sam was firing on all cylinders these days. He could sniff out a case faster than Dean could. Dean had been wondering, lately, whether he was missing the clues on purpose. 

Their lives, after all, seemed like one constant washing machine cycle set to spin.

Round and round they go, and they never seemed to progress anywhere. Not in personality, or character growth, or even the villains they fought.

Dean thought Chuck was in a rut, and the writing was getting pretty stupid and boring. No need to constantly up the stakes with an enemy bigger and bigger until it was completely ridiculous. Dean felt they were compelling characters in and of themselves.

But no, Chuck preferred stupid monsters with faces for heads that were defeated by fucking _Borax_ of all things. It'd have at least been more interesting if they were cockroach-humans in suits. Kafkaesque.

_What? I read._

Dean also did not tell them that he suspected someone had been in the room while he was asleep. He wasn't certain, after all, and there had been false alarms before. He didn't need them to get too worried.

_Or to keep him from dreaming,_ he reminded himself sourly.

_I need the rest! Sam said so,_ Dean thought defensively, and then wondered why he was feeling defensive against himself.

"Dean?" Sam said. "You with me, space case?"

Dean shook himself.

"Sorry. Yeah. You remember the last time we looked into aliens," Dean said. "I got abducted and you got laid. You weren't exactly broken up about it. Then asked if it would be okay to bang a hippie chick because it would be in the dark."

"I didn't have a soul, Dean," said Sam. 

"Excuses, excuses," said Dean. "But yeah. I'm feelin' fine, just a little out of it from sleepin' so much. That's gotta be bad, right? Can't be healthy to sleep so much."

"Most people need eight hours of sleep," said Sam.

"Crazy," said Dean, grinning. He turned to Cas. "How 'bout you, hotwings?"

The moment the joke left his mouth, Dean could feel his face heat up.

_Fucking freckles. They give me away every damned time -_

"I like your freckles, Dean," Castiel ground out, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading. "I put each and every one of them back where they belonged. Did you know they are exactly identical to a galaxy I built?"

Dean stared at Castiel. He coughed.

"Is, uh, that so," Dean said.

"Yes," said Castiel agreeably. "When I say I put them back _exactly_ as they were, that is something of a prevarication. They were already close enough, and, well. I wanted to leave my mark, as all creators do, I suppose."

"Some people say that freckles are angel kisses, Cas," said Sam, his eyes brimming with mirth. "Is that true?"

"I don't think so," said Castiel, turning the page. "But in this case, yes. After a fashion."

"After a - " Dean said, aware he was becoming incoherent. "Cas, you can't just say things like that!"

"Why not?" asked Castiel, and finally looked up at him.

Man, those blue eyes could pin him to a wall by their strength alone.

"It's true," said Castiel.

Dean was in no shape to reply. 

_And this is the guy you think you're worthy of?_ said some nasty voice in Dean's head. _Asshole._

"Dean?" asked Sam, snapping his fingers. "Tomorrow? You good? Man, you really need more rest."

"What?" said Dean. "Oh. Yeah. Aliens. Probing. Lay it on me."

Sam's eyebrows nearly shot off his fivehead.

"You know what I mean," spluttered Dean.

"All right," Sam relented. "So get this - "

-and Sam was off to the races.

Castiel just stared at Dean with those serene blue eyes, like still water, like peace.

Dean was so screwed.

***

"Okay, I suggest we get a little shut-eye," said Sam. "Take off early in the morning, get to Utah same day."

"Sounds good to me," said Dean. 

"I'll watch over you," said Castiel.

Normally, Dean's bravado would take over here and he would bluster and shout in order to protect his masculinity or whatever the hell reason he'd had that he couldn't quite remember.

This time, Dean didn't say anything at all.

Sam's eyes were merry, his lips raised in a smile, but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.

***

_Dean found himself alone, this time, on one of the many paths in the garden._

_But he was not afraid._

_He knew Castiel would find him._

_Sure enough, a few moments later, the angel stepped into the path._

_"Hello, Dean."_

_"Hiya, Cas," Dean said._

_Dean went to embrace him. They kissed, soft and slow and sweet, there beneath the beautiful purple trees._

_Dean looked up at them, finally seeing them for the first time._

_"What kind of trees are those?" he asked. "They smell really good."_

_"Jacaranda," said Castiel. "They're tropical, and they bloom in the springtime."_

_"Is it springtime here?" asked Dean._

_"It's always springtime here," smiled Castiel._

_Dean led the angel over to a nearby bench, and they sat down together. The jacaranda blossoms began to fall, a bright purple carpet at their feet._

_"I'm afraid, Cas," said Dean, because Dean could say something like that in a dream._

_Castiel's brow wrinkled in concern, and Dean immediately wanted to erase the wrinkles he put there._

_Still, he barged on._

_"Castiel - the real-world Cas - says there's a sleeping-sickness for angel vessels," said Dean. "Is that what is happening to me? Am I in danger?"_

_"I told you before, I would never let you come to harm," said Castiel. "And I am the real Castiel, in every way that matters. Just as this is the real heaven."_

_"Yeah, okay, if you say so," said Dean, a little hurt because he was certain there was no way this was Cas. "But I gotta know, if you know - what's happening here? Are you sure I'm not in trouble?"_

_Castiel leaned back against the bench and studied the falling purple blossoms as they floated down on the wind._

_"No, Dean," said Castiel. "You're not in danger. But that's why you're here."_

_"What do you mean?" Dean asked._

_"You're not in trouble," Castiel clarified. "They are."_

_"What?"_

_"You think you're the only angel vessel in your family?"_


	5. Jackson Hole

The first time it happened, they were in Arches National Park.

Dean had always loved the Arches. The place made him feel like he was on some other planet entirely - a good setting for an alien mystery, he supposed. The strange, delicate sandstone arches silhouetted against the sky always looked otherworldly to him. Craters of the Moon also gave him a similar feeling, but the Arches were the place to go if you wanted to feel like you were on an alien planet. It sure made the perfect backdrop for an alien invasion. 

Too bad it turned out to be nothing. Just some dumb, bored kids making their own crop circles. There were easier ways to start an urban legend, but Dean had to hand it to them - they were committed and talented as all hell. It couldn't be easy to make a perfect concentric circle like that in a wheat field with a tractor in the dark.

So here he was, sitting in the Arches with his angel on the hood of the Impala as they waited for his health-nut brother to come back from a run. Dean, ever the rebel, was currently showing Castiel how to drink Mountain Dew out of a Twizzler straw.

"One of the joys of humanity," Dean assured him. He bit off both ends of the Twizzler and stuck it into the mouth of the can. He sucked the sweet, fizzy drink up through the Twizzler, and was rewarded with strawberry-flavored Mountain Dew.

Castiel examined the Twizzler doubtfully, but did as he was told, carefully nibbling the ends of the Twizzler off. He put it into the Mountain Dew Can and did as Dean instructed.

His startled look made Dean laugh.

"Takes some gettin' used to, I guess," said Dean, smiling fondly.

Castiel smiled back, and reached out to touch Dean's face.

Dean froze.

Castiel froze mid-reach.

"I - uh - my apologies," Castiel said, flustered.

Dean knew that look.

It was the exact same confident, loving look that the Castiel of his dreams had given him.

And Castiel had reached out to touch him as if it was something they did all the time, sweet and easy.

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Castiel was looking away from him now, up at the stars.

Sam jogged up just then, panting like a bellows after his evening run.

"Hey, guys," said Sam. "Man, it's beautiful out there! Taking a night run is really invigorating. You should try it sometime, Dean."

"Fat chance," said Dean.

"Yeah, and that's exactly what you're gonna be if you don't start taking care of your health," said Sam.

"Fuck off, Sam," said Dean mildly, leaning against the windshield and sipping at his pop.

Fortunately, Sam relented, and changed the subject.

"So," he said. "What are we talking about?"

"Did you know -" Castiel began, and went off into some weird combination of astrophysics that Dean could barely follow.

But those hackles of his were raised all the same.

***

The next case was a longer drive, much to Dean's chagrin. He needed to get some answers out of Castiel. But it wasn't proving easy.

Every time he thought he had a chance to ask, Sam would show up, or Castiel would make some excuse to cling to Sam like a damned limpet.

Still, Dean was thrilled with their destination -

Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Cowboy ghosts!

He was gonna buy a poncho, and there was nothing Castiel or Sam could do about it.

***

"Why are you wearing a poncho? Again?"

They'd just arrived in town and Dean decided there was no harm in a little R&R before they got down to the hunt. He'd learned his lesson about the serape, before.

Besides, he wasn't exactly 100% on-board with getting rid of cowboy ghosts. Hell, they might even jumpstart the economy.

"It was on sale!" Dean argued. "Besides, didn't you see there's a _Squint with Clint_ movie marathon at the local theater? You wanna go?"

"No thanks, Dean," said Sam. "You know I was never into westerns. Not like you were, anyway."

Westerns were one of the many things that Dean was able to pick up on those old motel TVs, the the kind with the clunking knob for turning the channel that had so much static built up that he'd get a little shock if he touched it. Sometimes he touched it anyway, because he kind of enjoyed the sensation. 

But they'd formed a part of his childhood, and were indelibly inked there, just like Castiel's brand on his arm.

He tried not to think too much about it. Sometimes, during certain private moments, he'd put his hand there and think of Castiel. But it just added to the shame in his waking hours, because how could he ever think he was anywhere near Castiel's league.

But in the quiet, secret dark, he could be more than he was. He could be worthy.

Dean looked at the angel in question.

"What do you say, Cas?" Dean asked. "You wanna join me?"

Castiel looked up at him, and he was struck with a sense of yearning so powerful it stopped him in his tracks.

Dean suddenly felt wobbly, like he was a little too drunk, or like he was trying to keep his balance at the edge of a precipice, like that bus in _The Italian Job._

Maybe Dean had watched too many old movies.

"Cas?" Dean asked, his tone soft. 

"No, thank you," said Castiel in a strange, strained voice that told Dean he was really saying _I would love to._

Sam's eyes darted between the two of them. Kid was suspicious.

Dean couldn't blame them.

"You ain't got no taste," he said, grabbing the keys and leaving. "No taste at all."

***

Dean tried to focus on the movies, but he couldn't. They were some of his favorites, including some of Clint's non-Western stuff like _Every Which Way But Loose_ and _Any Which Way You Can_ , which had been filmed in Jackson Hole.

But he just kept returning to Castiel, over and over again in his mind. 

Soon, he nodded off and fell asleep.

***

_"Have you warned them?" asked Castiel, his hand gripping Dean's tightly._

_"Warned them about what?" asked Dean._

_"They need to be vigilant," Castiel told him, insistent. "So do you. Please, Dean."_

_"What do you need me to do?"_

_"Something that will take a great deal of courage on your part."_

_"You know I'd walk into the fire for you or Sam."_

_"I know."_

_"So what's this thing that will take more than usual courage?"_

_"Dean," said Castiel. "You need to talk to them."_

***

"Sir?"

Dean started awake.

A pretty blonde usher was shaking his shoulder.

"Whuh?" he said.

"Sir, the festival is over," said the girl. "We have to clean out the theater now."

"Oh," said Dean, standing up. "Sorry."

"It's all right," she said, and gave him a quick smile. "Those movies can be really long and boring."

Dean started to argue with her, but then gave up.

He _had_ fallen asleep, after all.

"Thanks," he muttered, and made his way out the door.

***

Back at the motel, Dean removed his poncho. He knew they wouldn't take him seriously if he was wearing it.

Still, he lovingly folded it away into his bag. A man never knew when he would need a poncho, after all.

The door opened.

Someone whistled the theme from _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly._

"Ha!" said Dean, rounding on his brother. "I _knew_ you liked those movies."

"Not a question of _like,_ Dean," said Sam. "Just a question of being around you. We don't have to like the same things, you know. Like you don't have to pretend to like the nerd stuff I like just to make me happy."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"I -"

"Yeah, I noticed," Sam said, smiling. "And thanks. I appreciate the effort. But I also think it's cool for you to, y'know, like the things you like. And be okay with it."

Sam then gave him the bore-a-hole-in-your-head-with-my-obvious-suggestion bitchface #3.5 but Dean had no idea what he was referring to, unless it was the poncho.

"Thanks, I guess," said Dean.

Sam gave him the next bitchface on the list, which was filed under how-am-I-related-to-such-an-idiot, but Dean was just as clueless about this one as the last.

"Look," said Dean, changing the subject. "There's somethin' I gotta talk to you about. You an' Cas."

Now Sam looked like he might be knocked over with a feather. The excitement on his face puzzled the hell out of Dean.

Castiel chose that moment to walk in the door.

"Dean has something he wants to tell us," said Sam.

"Yes, Dean? What is it?" asked Castiel.

"You know that dream I've been having?" asked Dean. "Well. I'm, uh. Supposed to tell you about it. You're both angel vessels, in a way. And Castiel said -"

"Whoa, wait," said Sam. " _Castiel_ said?"

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Sam," said Dean. Sam raised his hands in surrender.

Castiel was silent, staring at the floor.

"He said you're both in danger, too," said Dean. "We all are. And that if we wanna survive what's coming, we all gotta fess up."

"Well," said Sam. "Then I'm throwing something into the kitty. I've been dreaming, too. A beautiful park, a garden - "

"With purple trees?" asked Dean. 

"Yeah," said Sam. "Same place. I'm married, and our whole family is there, all our friends. And those purple trees are everywhere."

"Cas - I mean, the Cas in my dream - told me they're called jack-something."

"Jacaranda."

The brothers turned to look at Castiel.

He would not meet their eyes.

Then he said:

"I've been dreaming, too."


	6. Evans Plunge

"Cas?"

Castiel refused to look at Dean.

"You wanna fill us in here, buddy?" he asked. "You don't even sleep. Most of the time."

"No," Castiel agreed. 

"But you recognize the setting of these dreams."

"Yes," said Castiel.

He finally met Dean's eyes.

"But I think we are sharing the same location, not the same dream."

"Why do you say that?" asked Sam.

Castiel had the audacity to blush. 

"A number of reasons," he said. "One of which is that none of us seem to remember the same conversations we held in the dream."

"Dream-you said that he _was_ you," said Dean. "In every way that mattered."

Castiel nodded slowly.

"If your dreams are correct," said Castiel, and then corrected himself, "if _our_ dreams are correct, then. Then - "

The light of hope flared briefly in his eyes, and then died there.

Dean never wanted to see that again.

"It's useless," Castiel said. "That's impossible."

"Why?"

Castiel met Dean's eyes again. 

Dean gave him a challenging look, just as he always had since time out of mind.

"Why isn't it possible that we're just a small cog in a bigger machine?" Dean asked. "There could be _better things_ out there, Cas! We don't know."

"Yeah, Cas is right," said Sam. "Every time we think something nice is about to happen, we get our asses handed to us. I don't trust it."

"Well, I do," said Dean. "You've been there, you know what it felt like! Look. Next time we are in the dream, let's go up to each other and talk. See if any of us remember this conversation, right?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," said Sam. "Then we'll know for sure if we're all dealing with something separately, or one thing together. There's strength in numbers."

"I'm not talkin' about fighting, Sam," said Dean. "I'm talkin' about gettin' out! Out of here, out of Chuck's control, out of this fuckin' hamster wheel to a higher plane. Whatever."

"I caution you to consider the implications of such a thing," said Castiel. "We've been trapped in similar snares before."

"I don't think it's like that," said Dean with fervor. "Not this time."

"Why are you being so obstinate?" Castiel grumbled.

"Because," said Dean, a grin breaking across his face like the morning sunrise, "Good things do happen, Cas."

***

They left town early the next morning, after discussing the haunting in question with the man who owned the saloon.

Just as Dean had said, the guy didn't exactly want them in there ghostbusting, since it brought in tourists from all over the country looking for a real ghost experience. And the cowboys in question weren't bothering anybody, they just liked to sit at the antique player piano and drunkenly sing along to the old songs from time to time. If he lost the ghosts, he'd lose business, so thank you kindly but he was not interested in their services.

So, with a recommendation to give them a call if the ghosts started getting vengeful, the Winchesters and their angel hightailed it out of town toward the border.

There was a case up in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It was a long drive, but Sam reasoned that they could visit Jody and Donna. 

His brother didn't bother asking Dean why he didn't want to give them a heads' up on the case.

He knew exactly what Dean was planning, and he was singing along enthusiastically to AC/DC, because he was looking forward to it, too.

***

"If we were real lucky, whenever we went to visit Uncle Bobby in Sioux Falls when we were kids, our Dad would take us here," said Dean, as they pulled up into the parking lot of Evans Plunge. "Used to be a healing spring to the Lakota and Tsistsistas people, then was taken over and sold on a couple times since then. We used to look forward to this place for miles."

"Yeah, we both loved this place when we were little," said Sam. "We're grownups now, but - "

Dean could see the excitement shining in his brother's eyes, and knew it was mirrored in his own.

"But nothin'," said Dean. "Evans Plunge is for any age."

He hadn't been this excited for anything in years.

Dean had once heard that no one really ever _ages_. Not inside their head, anyway. Everybody's just a sixteen-year-old kid playing at being a grownup, even when they're eighty. 

So it made perfect sense to him that Evans Plunge was making him just as giddy as it had when he was little.

Evans Plunge was a natural hot spring that had been built up with waterslides and toys of different varieties. Dean remembered when he and Sam tried to swing across the rings above the big pool. Neither made it, both fell, but that was all part of the fun.

"Think you'll be able to defeat the rings this time, Sammy?" teased Dean. "Now that you're all built up like Tarzan?"

"Hell yeah," said Sam.

"You're on," said Dean.

Castiel just watched all this with amusement.

Dean hadn't been thinking about the eventual outcome of going to Evans Plunge with his angelic crush.

Dean and Sam were swinging across the rings, Sam making it nearly all the way before falling into the pool. Dean made a valiant effort but then his hand slipped on the wet surface of the ring, and he followed his brother into the drink. 

"I made it to the second-to-last ring! I win!" said Sam.

"The hell you did, I slipped!" said Dean. "I demand a rematch!"

"Anytime, sucker," said Sam, and then used both arms in a sweeping motion to throw water all over Dean.

"Hey!" shouted Dean, leaping onto his brother. "You're gonna get it!"

"Aaah no! Get off!" Sam shouted, trying to dislodge his brother, who was climbing up to throw a leg over his shoulder to wrestle him down to the water.

And then Dean caught sight of Castiel and froze. Sam easily hurled him over and he went down with a splash, sputtering and wiping his eyes as he emerged from the water.

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck -_

Because here came Castiel in black tight shorts and Dean could swear that he was walking in slow motion toward them with a jazz riff playing.

Had he always been so built? Broad shoulders, an eight-pack he could _see from here_ , thick thighs and a firm stance, confident and so fucking sexy that it made Dean eternally glad Sam had thrown him because yeah, _awkward._ Dean was not going to get out of the water until he got control of the situation in his pants -

and then Castiel was airborne, cutting into the water in a smooth dive.

"Jesus fucking Christ," said Dean out loud before he could think better of it. Luckily the kids screaming all around them and the splashing water provided good cover because Castiel had surfaced with eyes as blue as the water beneath them and there were droplets he was shaking from his hair, water coursing down his muscular chest that Dean would like to follow with his tongue and memorize the pathways along Castiel's skin -

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel, and great, now Dean was _really_ in no shape to compete at the rings again with Sam because yeah, no fucking way, not after this slow-mo porno that Castiel was currently starring in.

"Hi," said Dean, soft and so quiet that he doubted anyone could hear. But Castiel did, because he always did, of course.

"You were right. This is very pleasant," said Castiel, and then turned away so Dean got an eyeful of a strong back and an ass he could bounce a quarter off of and sharp shoulderblades that moved like sin as Castiel dove into the water again and swam in smooth strokes toward the other end of the pool.

"So? Rematch?"

Dean looked at his brother.

Sam was _grinning_ at him, the little shit.

"Forfeit," said Dean faintly. "You win."

Sam's laughter echoed off the walls.

Later, Dean got him back by cannonballing into the pool right next to him while he was towel-drying his hair.

***

Later, back on the road, Dean pointed at a sign that said _Cosmos Mystery Spot_ just outside Rapid City.

"You wanna check it out?" he asked. Sam's face was a thunderstorm.

"No."

Dean laughed.

When they passed the sign for Deadwood, and Dean's eyes lit up, Sam shook his head.

"Jody and Donna are waiting for us, Dean," Sam reminded him.

Dean gave the sign a wistful look.

"We could overnight there," he suggested.

"We've got a case," Sam reminded him. "One that we might need their help with. Besides, since when was five hours a long drive to you?"

"Perhaps we could go to Deadwood on our return," said Castiel. "And then go back to Evans Plunge."

There was a strange hopefulness in Castiel's voice Dean had never heard before. He dismissed it as he turned Baby toward Sioux Falls with a sigh.

***

When they finally pulled into Jody and Donna's, Dean had officially decided that he had created a monster.

"I thoroughly enjoyed the healing springs, Dean," said Castiel enthusiastically. "They really _are_ healing, did you know that? You and Sam seemed much happier there as well. I think we should return there after visiting Jody."

"Sorry, bud," said Dean. "We gotta look into this case, and Evans Plunge is a sometimes-treat."

Not to mention that Dean wasn't certain whether those waters could cure him of the heart attack he was likely to have if he had to watch Castiel the sex-god angel haul himself up out of the pool again. Even if they were the real deal, Dean doubted the hot springs had enough healing power for that.

"Dean," called Jody. "Sam!"

"And Castiel," said Donna from behind her. "Damn. You don't do things by halves, huh?"

She was looking Cas up and down in a way Dean wasn't sure he liked.

Oh, he liked Donna a lot. If not for Cas, she was exactly his kinda gal, and he saw a potential, possible future there with her.

But things were what they were, and as they were, Castiel was marked _Property of Dean_ in his mind.

"All right, all right, hands off the merchandise," grumbled Dean.

"Aw, doncha worry," said Donna, grabbing Dean's ass. "I got enough hands for two."

"Hey! Watch it," said Dean. Donna grinned.

"How you been, sweetheart?" she asked with a wink.

"Great," he said. "Sure good to see you guys."

"You too," said Jody. "If you're all done flirting, you can come on in. I made dinner. You guys in the mood for some punkin pie?"

Dean grinned.

"Are we ever," he said, and they went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Dean and Cas didn't get together, Donna was the only woman in the entire show that I thought would be a good match for Dean. People get hung up on Dean's looks, but he has a particularly acerbic and difficult personality. No amount of handsome makes up for that kind of behavior. Donna was the only person I could see him in a long-term relationship with other than Castiel, for many of the same reasons - she knows the life, is also a hunter, enjoys fighting, and definitely 100% won't put up with his shit.


	7. Donna

"Damn, Jody, these mashed potatoes are _delicious._ "

Jody smiled and took a sip of red wine.

"Thanks, Dean, but I can't take credit for those," she said. "They're Donna's."

Dean turned to Donna with a grin.

"Then my compliments to the chef," he said.

"Thank you!" she said brightly. "I put brie cheese in 'em. Makes 'em fancy and delicious."

"I'll have to try that," said Dean.

He caught Castiel's expression out of the corner of his eye. The angel had a crestfallen look, and Dean was puzzled by it.

He was about to ask what was eating him when Jody spoke up again.

"Did you guys stop by Wall Drug?" she asked.

"Not this time," said Sam. "But we went to Evans Plunge."

"Evans Plunge is _awesome,_ " said Donna, with feeling.

"Yeah, Cas loved it too," said Dean. "Right, Cas?"

Castiel just nodded.

"Sorry all we had was leftovers," said Jody. 

"Trust me, Jody, it's fine," Sam smiled. "We showed up after dinner. So we're lucky to get any food at all."

"So what brings you guys around these parts again?" Jody asked.

"Lookin' into a case," said Dean, his mouth full of potatoes. He was trying to figure out if he could also fit some of the pumpkin pie in there or whether it was poor etiquette.

Everything ended up in his stomach anyway, he always figured, but he didn't want to be rude.

"A case?" repeated Jody. "You coulda called us, we already live here."

"The girls are out at a concert," Donna put in. "If it wasn't too big a job, we coulda had it finished by the time you rolled into town. What is it?"

"Vampire nest," said Sam.

"Oh, the one out on the county road?" said Donna. "Coulda saved you a drive. We got them this morning."

"Really," said Sam. "Huh. Well. It's not like we aren't used to road trips, and we were in Wyoming anyway, so it wasn't that far to go."

"And seeing you both is always a plus in my book," said Dean with his trademark million-watt grin.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," said Donna, raising her wine glass and taking a sip.

She gave Castiel an uneasy look.

"Dean," she said. "Can I talk to you? In private?"

"Sure thing," said Dean, dropping his napkin on the table. "You guys gonna be all right here?"

"Yeah, Dean," said Sam. "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm sure we can all enjoy pie without your presence."

Dean raised his middle finger good-naturedly at his brother, and followed Donna outside.

***

In the dark, Donna leaned against the front of the Impala as she handed him a beer. She opened her own bottle using a ring on her finger.

"Damn," said Dean. "You just get better an' better, you know that?"

Donna's return smile was salacious but serious.

She dropped the fake, hokey "Minnesota" accent and spoke in the real deep-throated drawl of northern Minnesotan women everywhere.

"You know, Dean," she said, "any other time I'd have been one hundred percent save a horse, ride a cowboy, with you. You get it? You're _nice boots, wanna fuck?_ levels of hot."

Dean's jaw dropped. Then he gave her a smile that wobbled.

"I always did like forward women," he said, but it came out shaky.

"Well, you're gonna love this, then," said Donna. "Tell him, for God's sake. You're an asshole, Dean."

The resulting train-and-car crash in Dean's head, of total confusion, self-pride, and libido, would have been something to witness if it was visible to the outside world.

"Huh?" he finally managed. Donna sighed, and took a swig of beer.

"Don't play stupid with me, it's a bad look on you," she said. "Castiel's head over heels for you, and it's fuckin' obvious that you feel the same. So you gonna shit or get off the pot, chief?"

There were a million, no, a _billion,_ arguments and excuses and lies that could've come out of Dean's mouth right then.

Instead, his chin dropped toward his chest and he leaned against the Impala next to her, clutching his own beer bottle like it was going to save his life somehow.

"I can't," he confessed, and boy, did it feel good to admit it, even if it was just to Donna. 

He'd never been able to face saying it to Sam, let alone Castiel.

"Can't or won't?" Donna countered.

"Pick one," mumbled Dean. 

Donna gave him a long, calculating look. Finally, she turned away so they were both facing forward, the traditional Minnesota position of conversation.

Dean was glad for that little cultural quirk. It made things easier.

"Part of my problem with Doug," she said, "was that I never thought I was good enough, y'know? I ain't some supermodel, Dean. Cute, maybe. But man, that little break in my defenses - he took a crowbar to it. Tore me down all the time. And I thought I deserved it."

She was quiet for a moment.

"I didn't deserve it, Dean," she said. "And neither do you."

She took another drink of beer.

"So pull your head outta your ass or so help me God," said Donna. "I got a trunk fulla weapons just like you, Dean Winchester. You ain't special. Next time I see you, I wanna see you wrapped around that angel like he's your Christmas present. Because _he is._ Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," said Dean.

"Now go back in there before he spontaneously combusts because he thinks we're foolin' around out here," said Donna.

Dean nodded, and headed for the door.

"And Dean?"

He turned back to see her smiling.

"In another life, I woulda already tagged an' bagged ya," she said. "But Castiel would've been an acceptable second choice. Always did like me a badass."

Dean grinned.

"Donna," he began. "In another life - "

Donna's smile widened.

"Go on, get outta here," she said, and winked. "Dean, I already know."

Dean nodded, and pushed the door open, leaving Donna outside looking up at the stars.

***

Sam elected to stay with Jody because they were discussing the next threat, namely, what was happening to the people who were once angel-vessels.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that there might be more to Sam's desire to spend the night at Jody's place while the girls were all away, but he kept it to himself.

He had his own issues to deal with.

Castiel looked like murder as he bundled himself into the Impala so they could drive back to the motel for the night. He refused to speak in more than monosyllabic grunts to Dean all the way down the road.

Finally, Dean pulled over. It had started to rain.

"Okay, what's got your wings in a twist?" he asked.

Castiel's eyes slid toward him, but that was all.

 _God, he looks beautiful like this,_ thought Dean, watching Castiel's face in the shadows of the droplets streaking the windshield.

And Castiel, like always, was staring back, eyes deep and blue and quiet.

_I want to kiss him._

That knowledge, stark and bright, dropped directly into Dean's brain without warning.

_Okay. Okay. This is happening._

_I'm gonna -_

"Will you just drive, Dean?" growled Castiel irritably.

And the moment shattered like the fragile little thing it was.

"Fine," said Dean, and threw the Impala into drive.

***

On the way back to the motel, Dean mentioned that he was still hungry, and picked up some Kraft mac n' cheez from the local grocery store to cook in their tiny kitchenette.

Really, it was to cover his awkwardly curtailed sense of desire and his own embarrassment, although he was fairly certain Castiel hadn't even noticed anything had happened.

But when Dean felt bad, his first reaction was caretaking, and since he'd mostly raised his own brother, it tended to take the form of cooking.

Castiel watched him with mild curiosity as he puttered around the little kitchen, getting things ready.

"Sam an' me _loved_ this stuff as kids," Dean was explaining. "We couldn't always get the good stuff, had to make do with the off-brand, y'know? It never tasted the same. Now, top-tier mac n cheez is Velveeta. I know a lotta people swear by the homemade stuff but for me an' Sam, Kraft was the food of kings, and Velveeta shells n' cheez was the food of the gods."

He stirred the butter into the noodles and was careful with the milk; too much and it was runny and tasteless, too little and it was chunky and gross. No, the perfect amount meant that it had the swampy cheese texture right in the middle, when you could pick up the excess cheese on the delicate noodles by pushing them around with the fork.

"The other thing we loved to eat back then was Cheez Balls," Dean explained as he stirred the wooden spoon in the pot, making that squelching noise that meant it was just about ready, and he poured the powder onto the noodles. "They discontinued them some years ago, I think. Another one a those things that is often imitated, never duplicated. Never been able to replace 'em, you know what I mean?"

And just like that, as he grinned fondly at his memories of sharing mac n' cheez or Cheez Balls with Sam, another thought dropped into his head as if from on high:

_Really, Winchester. Loser dropout trying to fix things with his angel-crush using a 99 cent box of Kraft and talking about snack food. You think that a heavenly warrior, an Angel of the Lord, is gonna respond to your ridiculous courtship? Stay on Earth with a WalMart reject in hand-me-down plaid and ripped jeans? What've you got to offer?_

_Kraft mac n' cheez, that's what._

"Sorry," said Dean, through a throat that seemed strangely dry. "Probably doesn't interest an angel much."

Then Castiel was at his elbow, close enough to touch. His open gaze was hungry with some undefined emotion.

"On the contrary," he said. "Everything about you interests me, Dean. I know these memories, the way your heart feels when you think on them. I put them back there for you."

Dean stared at Castiel. There wasn't much a man could say to that.

Hurriedly, he shoved a bowl of mac n' cheez at Cas.

"Here," he said, voice thick with emotion, grabbing his own bowl and ducking away from Castiel along with those awkward feelings that made his heart race in his chest. 

He climbed onto one of the beds and grabbed a remote with a shaky hand.

"If you want more after you're done with that, I'll leave it to simmer on the stove, okay?" Dean said, not looking at the angel.

"Okay," Castiel agreed, and seemed to hesitate for a moment.

Then he returned to the other bed and sat down on it carefully. Dean watched as he gingerly picked up a few noodles on his fork and put them in his mouth

Castiel's eyes closed briefly and he swallowed.

"This is very nice, Dean," was his verdict.

Dean had never been prouder of his talent with instant macaroni.

"You wanna watch TV?" he asked, to cover this ridiculous reaction of pride.

"Of course, Dean," said Castiel. "Anything you want."

So they settled back and watched old reruns of sitcoms on the TV, and Dean tried very hard not to sneak looks at Castiel during the show, to see if he ate all the macaroni.

When Cas stood up to get seconds, Dean had to refrain from punching the air in triumph.

***

_They're sitting on the park bench again, and this time Castiel has his hand down Dean's pants, and Dean is gasping for breath and arching up, little pricks of heat in the small of his back as he thrusts into Castiel's waiting hand._

_"Wanna stay here forever with you, Cas," Dean pants._

_"I'd like nothing more," Castiel returns. "But you can't stay here, Dean. Not yet. There's still work to do."_

_**I know who you love. What you fear.** _

_A voice Dean doesn't recognize fills the park for a moment._

_For a moment, he sees what looks like fear on Castiel's face, and a moment later, it's gone._

_The angel redoubles his efforts as if he wants Dean to forget what he heard._

_But it's no use - it's etched into his memory now._

_"What was that? Ah- ah - what work?" Dean asks, before his brain shatters into a million pieces on the upswing of Cas's wrist._

_"You'll find out soon enough," says Castiel, and kisses him on the temple._

***

Dean woke up to the red blaze of _3:14_ on the bedside table clock and a raging hardon that wasn't going away anytime soon.

He rolled over to find Castiel staring at him.

_I'll watch over you._

Dean took a deep breath.

 _All right, Winchester,_ he thought, steeling himself. _Time to pull your head out of your ass, if you don't want Donna and her arsenal on your tail._

And in two steps that feel like the longest Dean's ever taken, that have taken the longest time to get to their inevitable destination, Dean crosses the space between their two beds and finally plants his flag by planting one on Castiel like his life depends on it.

After all, maybe it does.


	8. Tracy

"Dean?"

Castiel blinked up at him like he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

"Sure were a lot more confident with your hand down my pants just a minute ago," Dean said, swinging a leg over Castiel's hip and settling down.

"You - that was _you_?" Cas said, his eyes wild with terror and something else Dean couldn't quite guess.

He ground down against Castiel's obvious erection as the angel gave a startled gasp. 

Dean grinned, hoping his false bravado would carry him along.

_Man, **please** be into this, or I'm gonna be so fuckin' embarrassed -_

"Yeah, Cas," Dean growled. "Seems like it was you, too. What made you think we weren't sharing the same dream?"

"Because," said Castiel, "because - there was no way you could - "

"Believe me, Cas, I would," said Dean. "So fuckin' much, you have no idea what you do to me - "

He was lost in the thrill of the experience, riding high on his discovery that his feelings were reciprocated, even in some small way -

when Castiel unceremoniously shoved him right off the bed and onto his ass on the floor.

"Ow!" Dean said. "What the hell, Cas?"

Castiel turned away from him.

"No, Dean."

 _Oh, great,_ thought Dean, the world around him looking a lot more like the trashcan it had always been, instead of a place where _Dean Winchester finally gets what he wants_.

_It was just a dream. Weird things happen in dreams. Doesn't mean he wanted it, you asshole._

"Sorry," said Dean, shame and guilt like physical pain coursing through him.

But Castiel had rolled over and was facing the other direction.

Hurt and confused, Dean climbed into his own bed and did the same.

***

The thing about Dean is. Well.

There's a difference between a reputation and reality.

Dean created a sort of hypermasculine, devil-may-care character who got laid all the time, mainly for Sam's benefit. Secretly, or maybe not-so-secretly these days, he had always just _felt too much._

Oh, sure, he appreciated a hot body and long legs as much as anyone, but the flirting was pretty much where it started and ended.

Those one-night stands? Yeah, mostly he got completely absorbed in them, kind of fell in love a little and had to deal with the slightly-obsessive fallout where he was daydreaming about holding hands in the park together and all that shit. Eventually, he stopped doing it entirely, because he found that sex without any kind of love really wasn't his thing. He blamed it on aging, but it was really that he wanted to have incredibly sensual, sweet sex with someone he cared about and every time he did it with a stranger it completely messed him up for days.

Not that Sam knew. Not that anybody knew.

But in Dean's experience, most people who are all badass and bluster on the outside are hiding a softer interior than other people.

You only need to build a wall when there's something sensitive to protect behind it.

Castiel, on the other hand -

Cas was badass from start to finish, beginning to end. He _was_ what Dean pretended to be.

It was why he had fallen in love with him, which he could admit inside his own brain, if not with his words to the outside world.

And now -

well.

Cas was the _only one_ who knew just how much Dean cared, and how deeply.

He had rebuilt Dean from atoms. He knew all of him, intimately.

And apparently he didn't want Dean.

Not that Dean could blame him, of course. He wasn't exactly a prize.

But Cas knew Dean in ways that no one else ever could.

And he had been found wanting.

Dean flushed with embarrassment, thinking of how presumptuous he had been, assuming that some strange shared wet dream about a real Heaven meant anything in the waking world.

He slid his legs out of bed, studiously examining how the sunlight from the window lit up the hair there in gold, so he didn't have to look up and see the exasperation he expected to see written on Castiel's features.

"Gonna get some coffee," he mumbled. "You want any?"

No response from Castiel.

Dean hurriedly threw on his clothes and was outside at the diner when Sam finally returned with some news, and a new destination.

Dean gladly slid behind the wheel of Baby that morning, and tried to think of the road ahead instead of the embarrassing, humiliating one he'd just left behind.

***

Tracy Yellowfeather was an old friend.

They'd known her since they were kids, not that they stopped by all that much these days. She lived on the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin, a long day's drive from Sioux Falls.

"You guys, thinkin' it's the right answer, huntin' monsters," she shook her head, last time she saw them. "We've lived side by side with them for centuries. Not all of them deserve to die, Dean."

A lesson, it seemed, that Sam and Dean had to learn over and over again.

It didn't stick.

Dean glanced at Castiel, who seemed to be napping underneath his coat, or maybe he was just avoiding an awkward conversation.

 _Some monsters don't deserve to die,_ thought Dean, and his heart gave an all-too-familiar clench, the kind he always got after he spent a night with some girl he'd had to leave, but about a million times more intense.

This time, he couldn't bluff his way through it, or tear himself away.

There were Feelings, and it seemed that they were going to linger midair forever, when it came to Castiel.

The sound of an approaching vehicle gave him a welcome distraction.

Tracy rumbled up beside them in the usual half-fucked-to-hell rez car as she tossed them a jaunty wave. 

"The Winchester brothers," she said, grinning. "Ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

Tracy was Anishinaabe and lived on the local rez with her family. Things were never great out there, people were poor, they didn't have much. They'd asked, before, why she didn't leave, to greener pastures.

"Because out of all the world, _this_ land is mine," she'd told them with a laugh.

Tracy was the happiest person Dean had ever known.

That had never made sense to him either.

Sam and Dean got out of the car and gave Tracy a hug.

She had long black hair tied back with a thong, and wore a porcupine-quill necklace along with that permanent smile.

"Still an optimist, huh?" asked Dean. Tracy's eyes were merry.

"You know it," she said. "You oughtta try it some time, Dean."

Then Castiel stepped out of the car.

Tracy held his gaze for a moment.

"This is Cas," said Sam. "Cas, this is our friend, Tracy Yellowfeather."

"Pleased to meet you," rumbled Castiel, and he did seem pleased, for the first time in a long time.

"Damn! He's hot!" said Tracy. "Mind if I borrow him?"

Dean spluttered, but could come up with no real response.

"Remember when it was you who got winked at all the time?" Sam asked Dean.

"Shut up."

"All right, there's enough good looks to go around," said Tracy. "You guys wanna hit the diner? Burgers on me."

Dean beamed.

"Lead the way," he said.

***

They pulled into a diner just outside the rez.

"Well! Sam and Dean Winchester," cried the waitress. "Didn't you two grow up handsome!"

"Hi, Dolly," said Dean, and the old woman kissed their cheeks with a loud smack.

"What can I get for you boys?" she asked, pencil at the ready. 

"Three cheeseburgers, three Pepsis, and a coffee," said Dean, ordering for all of them.

"Double bacon cheeseburger for me, Dolly," said Tracy.

"Comin' right up!" said Dolly, bustling away.

"So, how are things with you?" asked Sam. Tracy shrugged.

"Same old, same old," she said. "We're working on getting running water out to the more distant parts of the rez. Some of the old houses are rotting out now so we gotta rebuild. Work here is never done."

"We were sorry to hear your father had passed on," said Dean. "He was a good man."

"I'm sorry about your father, too," said Tracy. "Though I can't with all honesty say the same about him. Sorry, Dean."

"Don't worry about it."

"What brings you through these parts?" asked Tracy. "I'd like to think this was a social call, but the Winchesters don't do social. So what's up?"

Castiel leaned forward and looked at her hard. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's with your friend?"

"He's an angel. He always does that," said Dean. "Ignore him."

Castiel gave Dean his best Smiting Face, which was going down in history alongside Sam's Bitchfaces in the exasperation department.

"We've been having dreams," said Sam, and Dean was forever thankful that his brother had taken point on this one, given how discussion of said dreams would only remind Dean of the pathetic events of the previous night.

Tracy sat back and regarded Sam with something like suspicion.

"Look, Sam," she said. "My dad was into all that stuff. Dreams and portents or whatever. Not my thing. I got work to do here, _real_ work, making sure people are fed and housed. The government doesn't give us much help, so we gotta help ourselves. You get me?"

"It's just," said Sam, pressing on, "that everywhere we've gone, either the monster was already taken care of, or it was harmless. Everything's kinda just - "

"Calm?" asked Tracy, her indefatigable smile breaking out again. "Nice? That's what life is like when you don't spend it as a serial killer with an excuse."

"Wow, Trace," said Dean. "Tell us how you really feel."

"Okay," said Tracy. "First things first, you blow in here after what? Fifteen years, since I seen you boys, and expecting me to play Magic Indian for you? My dad might have. He liked to humor people. But I ain't my dad. And the people here got problems more important than monsters, you got that?"

"She's right, you know," Castiel supplied helpfully. 

Dolly chose that moment to deliver their food.

"Sure is good to see you boys again," said Dolly, after handing out the plates. 

"You too, Dolly," said Dean, and winked. She covered her chest with a hand and smiled, then went back into the kitchen.

"Now," said Tracy, lowering her voice a little, "you two gotta see that you've got friends everywhere that worry about you and love you. And you act like you're all alone in this world like a coupla sad-sack idiots. Now, you come by the rez and you ask if I wanna go fishin', or gatherin' mahnomen, then I am absolutely your girl, because _that's what friends do together,_ you absolute assholes."

"Seems like I've been gettin' called that a lot lately," said Dean.

"And rightly so!" said Tracy, digging into her burger. "You too, Sam. And I don't know your friend here yet, but angel or not, I'm gonna go ahead and assume he's just as much of a woe-is-me, how-alone-am-I idiot as the rest of you."

"You are very perceptive," said Castiel.

"Well," said Tracy, with a mouthful of burger, "you don't need to be a magic Indian to see that. Get over your emotional constipation, boys, and start treating your friends like they're your _friends._ You might have even more if you didn't wander all over the country lookin' for things to murder all the time. That's the traditional sad white man hobby, after all."

"Jeez, Trace," said Dean. "That's a hell of a lot to take in."

"You show up lookin' for answers, don't get mad when those answers bite you in the ass," she told him. "Looks like you got bigger problems than some monster of the week, Dean. Spill."

Dean was caught red-handed and he knew it. He didn't say anything, but couldn't help looking at Castiel.

"Oh," she said, grinning. "Huh."

Then she let out a loud giggle and shook her head.

"Monster hunter in love with a monster," she said. "Nice."

Sam, too, was grinning from ear to ear.

Castiel was now studying something out the window.

"Yeah, sure," blustered Dean. "Like I would - "

"Sometimes," Tracy interrupted, swiping a french fry through the blob of ketchup on her plate and addressing Castiel and Sam, "there are moments in life when you just need to tell Dean to shut the fuck up."

Dean just gaped at her.

"Right," she said. "So you wanted some answers. You got 'em. Maybe not the answers you were lookin' for, but you got 'em. And once you finish up here, we're goin' fishin', because _that's what friends do together._ "

So saying, she ate the rest of her burger, and the three of them, sufficiently chastised, did the same.

***

After Tracy said her goodbyes to Dolly, they got into their cars.

"Dean."

He stopped, just before opening the door of the Impala.

"Yeah, Trace?"

She held his gaze.

"Don't be stupid now," she said. "There's a voice in that head of yours, and it's wrong. The one that says all that horrible shit? That voice is wrong. You got it?"

"More magic Indian stuff?" asked Dean.

"Nope," said Tracy. "Just reglar human stuff. You been upside-down in all this monster business for so long, maybe you forgot what that's like. But I see how you look at him, Dean, and how he looks at you. Your brother sees it too."

"Yeah, well, I tried," relented Dean. He may as well be honest. "He turned me down. Guess I'm not all I'm cracked up to be."

Tracy sighed.

"Damn, Dean, for a man who spends all his time dealing with monsters and shit, you sure don't know a curse when you see one."

"A curse?" Dean asked, perking up a little bit.

"If you were good at your job," Tracy said, throwing her hands in the air and then giggling again.

"Tell me again why we're friends?"

"Because I won't put up with your shit."

Dean nodded.

"Good a reason as any."

"All right, enough heart-to-heart," said Tracy. "You follow me, but be careful, okay? Road's rocky, not really suitable for that car of yours."

"I trust you not to steer us wrong."

Tracy's grin was bright and beautiful.

"Never would, Dean," she said, "and that's somethin' you can count on. Ain't nothin' more valuable than that in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Midwestern guys who travel a lot, with *no* Native American friends? Always seemed pretty suspicious to me.
> 
> Come to think of it, the America of Supernatural is a hell of a lot whiter than the America I know.


	9. Memphis

"Wow."

Dean had just finished filling Tracy in on, well.

The last fifteen years since they'd seen her.

They were sitting at the lake from Dean's dream. He'd forgotten it, somehow.

A lot had happened.

Castiel clearly remembered it, too.

 _Dreamwalking got a little more serious since those days,_ Dean thought.

Dean sat next to Tracy on the dock while Sam went for another run because he was a freak. Castiel was standing on the lakeshore communing with nature or whatever-the-fuck. Tracy had talked to him first, for some time. It made Dean nervous.

Then she had come up to him and sat down beside him in companionable silence as he sat with his fishing pole and no real idea what to do with it because it had been years and sure, he came here in his dreams when he wanted to relax, but he'd never been trained much in fishing.

 _But that's okay,_ said some voice from Dean's past. _Fishing ain't always about the fish. It's about bein' here, clearin' your head, whatever. You need a fishin' pole in your hand to do that, well. Ain't that just the way._

Dean wondered when American men had invented so many stupid rituals just to be A Man and also Have Contemplative Emotions. He was sure that the Puritans had brought it over on the Mayflower or something, because he'd seen tv shows about Europe and felt weirdly jealous about the way some dudes in Spain and Italy were downright cuddly with each other.

And still macho all the same.

"That's all you're gonna say? _Wow_?" asked Dean, for something to ask.

Tracy giggled, and he smiled. It was kind of infectious.

"Okay, how about _Wow. Tune in next week to find out what makes sad white men sad,_ " she quoted. "I saw that on the Internet once. Never realized just how accurate it was."

"You mock my pain," said Dean, still smiling.

"Don't quote Princess Bride at me, sad white man," said Tracy. "Anyway. You should talk to your angel. He's got it bad for you, Dean."

"And how do you know that?" Dean demanded. Tracy let out a long sigh.

" _Tune in next week to find out if sad white men will discover that_ ** _talking to each other_ **_may be the key!_ " trumpeted Tracy like a commercial announcer. "I _asked him,_ dude. How hard can it be?"

Dean thought about what dream-Castiel, who _was_ apparently real-Castiel, in some way, had told him about talking. 

"Tried that," said Dean gruffly.

"With your words, not your dick, idiot," said Tracy good-naturedly. She dangled her feet in the water and splashed.

"You're gonna scare away the fish," said Dean.

"First of all, shut up, you ain't fishin'," said Tracy, "Second of all, watch."

Soon enough, a number of sunfish showed up, and started mouthing at her feet and legs. She squinted up at him and grinned.

"Indian magic stuff," she said, and giggled again. 

"Did you ask Cas about, uh, anything else?" Dean ventured.

"About, uh, like what?" parroted Tracy, looking down at the fish flashing around her legs.

"I dunno," said Dean. "God? Life, the universe, and everything? About your Dad?"

Now Tracy really looked puzzled. She peered up at him with a smile.

"Why on earth would an angel know anything about my dad?"

"Well, you know," Dean said with a cough. "Heaven? And everything?"

Tracy threw her head back and laughed.

"Boy, you ain't too bright, are you?" she said, shaking her head. "Angels ain't got nothin' to do with Dad, or me, or anybody around these parts. We have another destination."

"What, like hell?" asked Dean. Tracy narrowed her eyes.

"No, asshole, like _our own heavens_ ," she said. " _A very special episode where sad white men think their afterlife is the only one!_ You've dealt with monsters from _cultures all over the world_ as you keep repeating. You still haven't cottoned on to the fact that there are multiple afterlives, multiple everything? Didn't you even say that there were multiple worlds?"

"Well, yeah," said Dean. "But that's because God wrote them all."

" _Your_ god, maybe," said Tracy. "Weirdo. Doesn't sound very nice."

"He's not, believe me," said Dean.

"But you thought he was the only one?"

"Well, yeah."

Tracy laughed again. The fish swam away at the noise echoing off the water and into the trees. 

"That's amazing," she said. "And hilarious. Did _he_ tell you that?"

"Not exactly," said Dean. "But he's sure got a hell of a lot of power if he isn't _the_ God."

"Oh, he might be that," she said. "For you guys, at least. But think about it, Dean. One author can write many books. But there's not just _one_ writer in the whole world."

Dean stared across the water at the trees, lost for words.

"So," she said, "sad white man, what do you think that means?"

"Maybe," Dean drawled, "Maybe - it's not a dream? It's real?"

Tracy nodded her head, decisive.

"Maybe there's a way out," she said. "Because I know for a fact that your weird half-Christian heaven ain't the only one."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Dean softly. 

Tracy grinned.

"Magic Indian stuff," she said.

This time, her resounding laughter echoed all the way down the lake.

***

They left Tracy the next day.

"See ya later, sad white men!" she called, waving. "Don't be strangers!"

Dean waved to her as he drove off.

"You know," said Sam, "maybe we should visit our friends more often."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean agreed.

Castiel was silent all the way to Chicago, where they spent the night.

***

"You get the sense that something is leading us somewhere?" asked Sam. "We're doing a line across the country right now, never doubling back at all."

"Maybe," said Dean. "Where are we headed now?"

"A case - well, it could be a case," said Sam. "I'm kinda doubting it these days. But it's in Memphis. You wanna take a look?"

"Hell yeah I do," said Dean. "If we get going, we can make it there tonight."

"Good. Finish your pancakes and bacon, and we can go."

"You can't rush a good breakfast."

"Dean, this is Denny's. I don't think _good_ enters into it."

"Yeah, I hate cheating on mom n' pop diners like this, but we do what we can with what we have."

***

The route was a longer straight shot than he usually liked driving.

The Impala was covered in the usual detritus of the road, hamburger wrappers, empty chip bags, discarded coffee cups, and the undeniable scent of three grown dudes in an enclosed space for several hours.

Or maybe that was just him and Sam. Dean wasn't entirely sure Castiel really smelled like anything.

Even with the windows down, this was when Sam started to get carsick. Dean, too, usually much quicker than Sam, but that's why he usually drove.

Well, one of the reasons.

"... _east of Omaha -_ fucking Omaha, they'll steal the shoes right off your damn feet there," said Dean, and then sang along with the song, " _but your thoughts will soon be wanderin', the way they always do, when you're ridin' sixteen hours, and there's nothin' much to do, you don't feel much like ridin', you wish the trip was through - "_

He caught Sam's eye, and his brother joined in:

_"Here I am, on the road again_

_There I am, up on the stage_

_Here I go, playin' the star again_

_There I go -_

_turn the page._ "

They laughed, and sang the rest of the song together, and Dean could've sworn that he saw Castiel finally turn his head in the backseat, where Dean caught him giving them a fond look in the rearview mirror.

***

They rolled into Memphis around midnight, and Sam ran in to book their room.

Dean parked the Impala in the motor court.

 _Talking,_ Tracy had said, dream-Cas had said, and how many others down the long road, over the years.

Dean cleared his throat. He turned in his seat to look at Castiel.

"Cas?" he said. "C'mon, man, we gotta talk. An' I don't want to either, but we - we gotta get past this, somehow."

Castiel gave him a strange look that he couldn't really interpret. It wasn't the anger he'd expected, it was - 

Grief.

Dean melted.

"Cas?" he asked softly, when there was a rap at the window that startled him.

"Here's your key," said Sam, with the world's biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

" _My -_ what?" Dean asked.

"Tracy talked to me when I got back from my run. She said you gotta figure your shit out, and I've got work to do," said Sam. "Not like it's gonna break the bank, Dean. We _are_ the bank. Now figure your shit out, okay?"

"Sam!" Dean called after his brother, but Sam just threw him a middle finger and Dean was stuck here with a motel room key, a ruffled angel, and a lot of feelings he didn't want anything to do with all crowding to be heard.

"Indian magic," huffed Dean in the general direction of the keys in his hand. "All right, feathers, let's get the lead out."

 _You got some fine women in your life, Winchester,_ he thought to himself. _Too bad it took you so long to see that._

_And you wanted to talk._

_So -_

_here's your opportunity._

Dean sighed, and climbed out of the Impala, striding forward without even checking to see if Castiel was following him, because if he didn't walk fast enough he was going to lose his nerve.

The door swung open, and swung closed again with the both of them behind it.

The light flicked on.

Dean sat on one of the double beds in a room with surprisingly tasteful, high-end decor. Well. Apart from the mirrors on the walls, anyway.

The low light threw everything into a soft golden relief.

Castiel still stood near the door, naked terror on his face.

"All right," said Dean, clasping his hands together in a way that he hoped looked like supplication to an angel. "It's time, Cas."

"Time for what?" rumbled the angel.

Dean sighed.

"Talk to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 1 drinking game: every time one of them says the phrase "cultures all over the world have stories of X".


	10. Motel

"Dean, I can't."

"You sure about that?"

Castiel finally approached him, and sat down carefully on the other bed.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Look, I can deal with rejection, okay? I'm a grownup. But I can't deal with the silent treatment and how weird things have been since - since -"

"It wasn't rejection."

Castiel said it so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear it.

"What did you say?"

His heart was doing that stupid thing in his chest again. Fucking idiot.

"I said, it wasn't rejection," said Castiel, lifting his eyes to meet Dean's.

And there it was - whatever it was, he saw it -

Dean _saw it break_ , whatever had been holding Castiel back, as if he had been trying to swim upriver and finally gave up, let himself be swept away in the deluge.

Because Castiel was suddenly on him, kissing him, every part of him that Cas could reach, and Dean gave back as good as he got.

Clothes were on the floor faster than he could blink. Dean wasn't even sure if they'd taken them off or Castiel had blinked them away in his impatience.

All he knew was that it seemed like one minute they were clothed and talking, the next, he was sitting in Castiel's lap, the both of them naked, Dean staring down at Castiel in something akin to awe.

"That's it," murmured Castiel. "Beautiful. Look at yourself."

Dean leaned back a little, staring down at his own cock, already hard and leaking.

"No," whispered Castiel, "There."

He glanced over at the mirror, where he saw himself bathed in the low golden light of the room.

"See how beautiful you are?" whispered Castiel, who then manhandled him around so that Dean was facing the mirror with Castiel behind him, the angel's chin on his shoulder as Dean knelt in front of him. "Watch yourself, Dean, and know what I have come to love to distraction."

Castiel's large palm slid flat against Dean's heated skin, down and over his chest, playing across the muscles of his stomach which jumped a little under his ministrations. His huge hand then closed around Dean's cock and made him yelp in surprise.

Castiel's other hand slowly began to open him up, and Dean's mouth dropped open on a pant. He felt surrounded and owned, completely, by the angel behind him, who didn't even have to look to know what he was doing, holding Dean up with his strength alone as if he weighed nothing.

"I have longed for you," Castiel said softly, watching himself fist Dean's cock in the mirror, "for so many years, Dean Winchester. Long before I knew you, and then long before I knew just what that longing was. I took myself in hand because of you, did you know that? For the first time in all of my existence, that's how desperate you made me."

Dean moaned at that, the thought of Castiel finding some out-of-the-way place somewhere, needing to find relief from his desire, his desire _for Dean_ , and learning his own body as he fucked into his fist and came all over his hand with Dean's name on his tongue- 

"Ah, _fuck,_ Cas, you're so fuckin' hot," Dean sighed through parted lips.

"You are a garden of delights, my love," said Castiel, and slowly began to thrust his cock inside of Dean, a long, low moan breathed onto his shoulder as he was fully seated inside.

"Keep watching yourself, Dean," whispered Castiel, fucking into him now with powerful thrusts.

Dean's eyes fluttered open and he watched himself being thoroughly dominated by the angel behind him, his body held firm as Castiel took his pleasure, and he was a complete mess, begging, pleading, grasping at Castiel's smooth skin in his elation.

Castiel's head suddenly flung back on a cry, and to Dean's total shock, he watched two great, midnight-black wings erupt from the angel's back and spread high and proud above them.

There was never a moment of more religious, dumbstruck awe in his entire life than Dean felt in that moment. He knew, utterly and completely, that this creature was inhuman and that it, or he, had decided to call Dean his own. Terror flowed through Dean, but a holy one; he began to cry out at every thrust as though it were a gift, and perhaps it was, because this was the only thing he had ever known that he might call _ecstasy._

And he reached out, blasphemous, toward those wings and buried his fingers in the feathers.

Castiel screamed.

He bit down on Dean's shoulder and drew blood, clutching at him erratically, and then shoved Dean down as he thrust up and wailed his release inside of Dean's body.

"Fuck!" Dean shouted, and watched himself come, onto his stomach and the floor and Castiel's hand.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," said Castiel on a sigh, but the admission sounded sad, again like the grief he had seen in the car. "I can't help it. I never could. I'm in love with you. Always will be."

Dean grinned, a little dizzy and weak in the knees.

"I'm in love with you too, Castiel," he said, quietly, but loud enough for Cas to hear. "So fuckin' in love with you, man, it scares me sometimes."

_Good. That's how you use your words,_ thought Dean proudly.

"Gonna get cleaned up," said Dean. "Goin' to the bathroom first, though, then gonna shower. You wanna join?"

Castiel's sleepy grin was all the answer Dean needed.

In the shower, they didn't speak, just traded lazy, loving kisses and washed each other off.

When they went back to the room, Castiel lay down on his stomach, black wings relaxing against his back. When Dean joined him, one of the wings stretched out to cover him, somehow both warm and cool.

"Love you so much," murmured Dean, hiding a grin.

Falling. It was so easy. Dean wondered why he had waited so long.

"Love you too," Castiel mumbled back, and was out like a light.

***

Dean found his sleep was dreamless for the first time in a long time.

Content, he slept on through the night.

***

The following morning, the wings had vanished.

Castiel was still there.

Or his body was, at least.

"Cas?" Dean said, growing more and more alarmed. "Cas, wake up!"

But he wouldn't wake.

He just kept on sleeping.

Dean collapsed at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

_Falling is easy_ , he thought. _Falling ain't the problem._

_It's the short, sudden stop at the end._


	11. Dreams

Dean sat there for a while, wondering what he should do.

_Get Sam_ was the usual go-to, but Dean wasn't sure that calling in the cavalry was the right thing, here. Besides, Sam would get all droopy and cuddly about it, once he figured out what had happened between them. Kid was smart.

"Okay," said Dean. "Okay. Goin' back to sleep."

He wondered if that was even possible, given the terror coursing through him, and the fact that he hadn't dreamed at all the night before.

But he figured it was worth a try.

He curled up beside Castiel, burying his face in the warmth between his chin and shoulder.

He hoped it worked. If not, Sam would be banging on the door soon enough anyway.

***

_The beautiful park was now a carpet of purple flowers._

_The trees were still filled with blossoms._

_Castiel stood at one end of the path with his back to Dean._

_Dean stood at the other._

_"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean asked._

_"Nothing," Castiel said simply. "You have given me all I could have asked for in this lifetime."_

_"Bullshit," Dean replied. "You gotta come back with me. This ain't the end, Cas, it's the beginning. Finally. After dancing around this thing for all this time."_

_"I made a deal, Dean."_

_Dean's heart stopped._

_"A deal?" Dean repeated. "Like with the devil?"_

_Castiel laughed, a little._

_"If only it were that simple," he said._

_"Then who?"_

_"The Empty."_

_Dean was silent._

_The blossoms just kept falling like soft snow._

_"And what was this deal?" Dean asked._

_"That if - when - I was ever truly happy, it would come and take me," said Castiel._

_"Are you tellin' me this is the Empty?" asked Dean._

_"No," said Castiel, finally turning around. "I think it's exactly what it claims to be: a different kind of Heaven. Somewhere else. Somewhere safe."_

_"So the minute we fix our shit you come runnin' here without even askin' me how I'd feel about it?"_

_Castiel nodded._

_"Well screw that. You're comin' home. We'll fix this together, just like we always do."_

_Dean took a step forward._

_"Or I'm gonna stay here with you," said Dean. "And I'm a stubborn bastard. You want that on your conscience?"_

_Castiel stayed put._

_"Please, Cas," Dean said, changing his tune a little. "I'm puttin' it all on the line here, okay? You gotta wake up. If we're gonna find our way here to this place, we're gonna find it together. All three of us. You, me, an' Sam."_

_Dean was now a step away from Castiel._

_God, his eyes were so_ _**blue** , and as the blossoms fell around him, they seemed even brighter than before._

_Then Dean did what he did best -_

_he reached out, grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his trenchcoat, and pulled him in for a kiss._

_When he finally let go, he looked into those eyes._

_"You comin' back with me?" murmured Dean. "You comin' home?"_

_"I will be in danger from now on, Dean," Castiel said. "I came here to stay safe, in the hopes that you and Sam would find your way here one day. If the Empty comes for me - there's no coming back from that."_

_"Well, it's gonna have to go through me first," said Dean, with a bravado he wasn't really feeling._

_And a selfishness that, fuck his entire life, he really was._

_Because the one thing macho-bluster Dean Winchester with his string of one-night stands across the USA could not deal with was being alone._

_"Please, Cas," he whispered._

_"Of course, Dean," Castiel whispered back, and surrendered._

***

There was a loud banging at the door.

Dean woke up, muzzy and confused for a moment.

"Dean, c'mon, we gotta work this case," said Sam. "It's already nine-thirty and they're going to kick us out at ten."

"Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute," Dean called back, and the banging on the door mercifully stopped.

He rolled over and looked at Castiel.

"Cas?" he asked, shaking his shoulder gently. "Cas, you better wake up or I'm gonna start punchin'."

When sunlight hit the blue of his eyes, you could've knocked Dean over with a feather.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel.

"Oh, thank fuck," said Dean. "You all there? Everything in order?"

"I think so," said Castiel.

Dean coughed to cover the emotions currently throwing Rio Carnival inside his head and heart.

"Good," he said brusquely. "C'mon, we gotta get up an' help Sam with the case."

Dean vanished into the bathroom, where he pressed his fist against his forehead with his eyes squeezed shut, then opened them and watched the tears drip down onto the sink.

***

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it, little brother. I think somebody's watchin' out for us."

Yet another case had turned out to be a bust. Appalachian forest spirits that moved all the way across the state into Memphis because selling gentrified moonshine was the done thing these days and really, who could fault them for trying to make a buck? They were a hit at the hipster bars all over town, and as far as the Winchesters could tell, the only crime they were committing was the plaid-and-beard faux authenticity for triple the price on Tennessee moonshine.

So now the three of them were in a barbecue joint listening to some guy in a cowboy hat croon the country greats from various eras. The ribs were _delicious_ and Dean was in heaven-

the better heaven, that is.

Dean chose to sing along to the current tune, because he knew all the words.

" _Put on my blue suede shoes and I boarded the plane._

_Touched down in the land of the Delta blues in the middle of the pourin' rain._

_Walkin' in Memphis,_

_with my feet ten feet offa Beale_

_Walkin' in Memphis -_

_but do I really feel the way I feel?"_

"Wow," said Sam, impressed.

"What?" asked Dean.

"Well, you always sucked at singing," Sam told him.

"Hey!" 

"It's true," said Sam. "But that was really good. Have you been practicing or something?"

Dean blushed.

"Maybe."

"He's right, Dean," said Castiel. "That was lovely. Angels sing almost constantly, so I feel qualified to judge."

Dean blushed even harder, grinning down at his plate.

Then he glanced up at Cas in terror, because if he was this happy, maybe Castiel was too, and would get snatched away before his very eyes.

But Castiel was just watching him with the usual fond expression.

Dean tried to reach out and take his hand and aborted the mission halfway through, casting a guilty look at Sam, who had noticed nothing because he was watching the show.

_"Muriel plays gospel_

_Every Friday at the Hollywood..."_

Then Dean found courage where it had always been lacking.

He reached out for Castiel's hand and took it, smiling into his eyes.

Then he sang again, but this time, only to him.

_"I sang with all my might_

_She said, tell me, are you a Christian, child?_

_I said, Ma'am, I am tonight."_

Dean, the man of no faith, who had found faith again in his angel.

There was more of a love confession in that line than anything Dean had ever said to Castiel before.

The angel smiled.

***

"Okay, what's next?" asked Sam, shutting the trunk of the Impala. "I keep hearing about things but they all turn out to be a bust. I just got a head's up, but -"

"Lemme guess," said Dean. "Whatever it is, it's in Atlanta."

Sam stared at him.

"How'd you guess?"

"I just think something's leadin' us somewhere," said Dean. "Don't know if it's a good or bad thing, but Sam. From Portland down to Memphis, then Memphis to Atlanta - that's not exactly a straight shot, but it's close enough. And we're runnin' outta country, man."

"Where do you think we're being led?"

"Not sure," said Dean. "But there seems to be some kind of a direction to it, doesn't there? Like a line across the country."

"And this something doesn't want us working?" asked Castiel.

"Or it doesn't want us in danger," said Dean. "Maybe it really is something benevolent, man. And look, I'm the first person to look a gift horse in the mouth, okay? But this seems, I dunno. Different, somehow."

"Any way we can check?"

"Gimme a second," said Dean. He stood up and went outside into the street, away from the crowded noise of the barbecue joint and the songs drifting through the place as the other patrons sang along with the old, familiar classics.

He took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Sally's Sex Shop," chirped a voice loudly.

"Hiya, Trace," said Dean.

"Sad white man!" she trilled at him. "And here I thought I'd be a wise old grandma before I heard from you again."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Indian magic. We call it Caller ID," she said. 

"Bull. I know this is a landline and you don't have caller ID on it."

"The real answer is, I had no idea," said Tracy.

"That how you answer the phone all the time?"

"Sure is. Or somethin' like it."

"Surprised you don't get fired."

Tracy laughed.

"Fire me?" she said. "And then what would they do? I hold this place together."

"You sure do."

"So what's up?"

"You're into plants, right? Like, a lot."

"Yeah. Just in the normal, human way though," she teased him.

"You know a lot about tropical plants? Like, where they grow an' stuff?"

"Sure do," said Tracy. "But why not ask your angel? He should know."

"Because I can't," he said. "Not right now. You know that curse thing, well. It's complicated, Trace."

She laughed again.

"It sure is. But what is it that you want to know?"

"There's a purple tree," Dean said slowly. "Smells really good, the blossoms fall after it blooms in the spring."

"Jacaranda," said Tracy automatically.

"That's it. Where does it grow in the States?"

"Oh, that's easy," she said. "Texas, California, Florida - but mainly in the Keys - "

"Perfect," said Dean. "That's perfect. Are you familiar with any of the parks in Florida?"

"Not really," she said. "Never did make it down there. You going to investigate Florida Man? I hear he's some kinda monster."

She giggled, and Dean had to smile at that.

"No," he said. "But I'm workin' on a hunch here, and I think you just gave me a lead."

"Let me know if I can do anything else for you, sad white man."

"You ever gonna stop callin' me that?"

"When it gets old."

"So like, the fifth of never."

"Around then."

"You take care of yourself, Trace. And thanks."

"You too," said Tracy, and he could hear her smiling, "and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Find a way to be a little less sad, okay? It's a downer."

Dean grinned.

"Will do."

"See you around."

"Promise."

Dean hung up the phone and returned to the table.

"I think we got a lead," he said.

"Yeah?" asked Sam. "Where to next?"

"What would you say if I told you I got _two tickets to paradise?_ " Dean sang.

Castiel stared at him. Sam's expression gave a weather warning of imminent bitchface.

Dean relented.

"The Florida Keys," he explained. "Looks like we may be gettin' that beach vacation after all." 


	12. Atlanta

Outside of Atlanta, to Dean's delight, they stopped by a convenience store that was straight out of the 90s.

"They even have a video rental section!" Dean crowed. "Who even has a VCR anymore?"

Dean was in seventh heaven as he showed Castiel all the original tricks of the trade.

"See, nowadays, you got these places callin' themselves _convenience stores_ ," Dean explained. "They're more like grocery stores crossed with a fancy restaurant in comparison. So, here's what you do, or did, back when we all started doin' this."

He went to the refrigerator and pointed out the cheese sticks.

"Now, you wanna get the best bang for your buck, right?" Dean asked. "So you go for the cheese sticks. Personally I like pepper jack but that's 'cause I got a kinda fancy palate after drivin' all over the country and gettin' used to food from all over. But you can go for the sharp cheddar or mozzarella - but trust me on this one, mozzarella sticks taste like molecules even to me. I know it's tempting to go for the Cheetos or the Doritos or a doughnut but don't, unless you have the cash to spare, you got me?"

"Got it," nodded Castiel. "Cheese sticks. Pepper jack is best, or sharp cheddar."

"Well, depends on the region, really," said Dean. "Colby is good if you like a creamy cheese, and cheese curds if you like squeaky. I'm not a fan myself. Tillamook cheddar is _not_ as good as they say it is, don't believe it."

"You know a lot about cheese," Castiel observed. Dean brightened.

"Not really," he said. "I just know what's good to get at the gas station. Second thing - you want your protein. So pick up some beef jerky. Head's up on this one, beef jerky's disgusting, it's always been disgusting. But you've got the cheese for flavor and the meat for health."

"I can't believe I didn't die of a heart attack at 22," muttered Sam from another aisle where he was looking at the salad possibilities, the traitor.

"Don't listen to him, Cas," said Dean. "I did what I could, but kids are gonna turn out however they turn out, right? Anyway, I kept you stitched together for years, Sam, and it was on this diet."

"Wonders never cease," said Sam, who went off to commune with the gods of salad or whatever he did.

"Next thing. You got some extra cash, you buy a big bag of strawberry Twizzlers. Or black licorice, but you're gonna regret the hell outta that if you're in the car with someone who hates the smell."

"Okay," agreed Castiel.

"You can eat 'em slow and it keeps you awake on the road," Dean said. "Better than coffee, and coffee only lasts so long. One of these babies'll last you on a long haul, guaranteed."

He tapped a Family Pack of Twizzlers and grinned.

"Hydration's next," he said. "You wanna be careful with coffee or iced tea. Delicious, but doubles the time you gotta use the can, so you'll be pullin' over more often than you'd like. Water's good, but you also wanna get some juice in there for Vitamin C. You gotta be really careful in the cloudy or cold areas of the country that you get enough Vitamin D, too, but they make drinks with that in it these days. Word to the wise - if you're overheated, you don't want water. You want somethin' with electrolytes like Gatorade. Soda's better than water at those times, you want the body to hang onto the water instead of flushing it out with sweat, okay?"

"Okay," said Castiel.

"Don't over do the sugary stuff," Sam called. "Or you're gonna end up with a paunch like Dean's."

"Hey!" Dean said. "Sam, that's enough. I'll shave your head in your sleep, I swear to God."

"I'd like to see you try," retorted Sam, but when he saw that Dean was serious, his expression softened. "Sorry. Guess I've been kind of a dick."

"Yeah, you wanna explain that to me?" Dean asked. "You've been full of this snarky shit since we hit the road this time. You're gonna give me a complex."

Sam sighed like he was deflating.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "I guess I always tell you to talk about shit and now I'm not. Dean, I'm tired. Of all this. You know what? My wife, in my dream - I can't quite make out her features, but she's definitely someone we already know - she asked if I would stay there with her! And you know what? I almost did."

"So what are you sayin'?" asked Dean. 

"I'm saying that this is my last case," said Sam. "However it turns out. I've made my peace with who we became, who I became, that I lost Stanford and Jess and everything related to that part of my life. I've _made peace_ , Dean. But I never wanted to do this forever, even though I tried to convince myself I could."

Dean stared at Sam. He felt like his entire life was slipping through his fingers like sand.

_Idiot. Telling an angel all your stupid roadside working class secrets, how to survive on the road. When has your knowledge ever gotten you anything but killed? None of this matters to a being as elevated as Castiel. It doesn't even matter to your own brother, who was always the smart one._

_You just can't stand to be alone. And you'll take other people down with you because of it._

There was a hand on his arm, just at his shoulder. Dean felt the anger and self-hatred melt right out of him in a wash of cool sensation.

"Whatever your mind is telling you right now," Castiel murmured gently, "is a lie. Dean, all that you are fascinates me, _because_ I am an angel. Everything humans do is fascinating, and your arbitrary assignment of value to the type of knowledge that you have is a human invention. Your intelligence, your skill in battle, your ability to raise your brother into the man he is today, and yes, even your ability to make instant macaroni - all of these things are worthy of praise and study, just as much as the words of the great and good. More, perhaps, because these are necessary skills for survival that many have never learned before."

"Dean," said Sam, and Dean couldn't believe they were having a heart-to-heart in the middle of a convenience store right out of the 90s with old copies of HOUSE and BRAINSCAN on the wall, but Winchesters never did anything by halves, "Cas is right. I appreciate everything you've done, and you had a thankless job for the most part. I don't think I've told you often enough. But it's time to let me go."

Castiel's hand was still on Dean's arm, but it felt like the world was ending.

"Besides," Sam continued, "you've got someone by your side who loves hunting, who wants to be in the Impala with you by his own choice, you've got the partner you've always wanted, Dean, how can you not see it?"

Dean looked at Castiel, whose eyes were clear and wide and blue, and realized the truth of what Sam was saying.

"Can you give me the same freedom?" asked Sam. "Can you let me go, so I can find a partner of my own?"

"Thought we were partners," said Dean in a rough voice to his brother.

"And we are," said Sam. "And brothers. But something's gotta give, Dean, and I think we _both_ deserve our own lives."

The intensity between the two of them was tangible, as Dean stared at his brother and wondered what a life without him would look like.

"It's not like we'd never see each other again," said Sam. 

Dean nodded slowly, letting out a breath.

It was time to try letting go. Sam deserved that, at least.

"You gonna stay til we figure this out?" asked Dean. "Not whatever the Atlanta mission is, but this - better-heaven thing?"

Sam grinned.

"You really think I'm going to let _you_ take a Keys vacation on your own?" asked Sam. "The hell with that."

Finally, Dean grinned back.

"Good," he said. "Maybe we can get you some tail down there. Or I can throw you into the ocean."

"Counting on it," said Sam.

Then, to Dean's surprise and joy, he grabbed some cheese sticks, beef jerky, and a bag of Twizzlers.

"Can you grab me some sweetened no lemon iced tea?" asked Sam.

Dean was grinning so hard his face hurt.

"Yes, I can," said Dean proudly. "That's my boy!"

And they left the convenience store laden with all kinds of snacks.

Sam even bought a canister of Cheez Balls, although whether they were the new release or an actual leftover from the 90s, Dean decided they didn't need to know.

Dean, for his part, bought and paid for a VHS copy of _The Prophecy_ , because he could.

***

They spent the night at a motel in Atlanta.

The supposed mission there was also a bust, which surprised exactly none of them. This time it was a haunting at the Coca-Cola plant, primarily a prank-playing poltergeist who annoyed the bosses until they gave the employees a raise.

"That ain't a haunting in my book," Dean had declared.

"That's a government service," Sam had agreed.

So they left it alone.

In the motel, Dean was expounding upon his theories regarding rural vs. city living.

"Thing about big cities is that you get real anonymity," Dean explained to Castiel. "All those podunk towns we visited, man. I can't believe we didn't get arrested more often. Not like our faces weren't known across the country, America's most wanted, you know. But sometimes I feel safer in the city."

"Sherlock Holmes said something along those lines," said Castiel. "But I can't really see you as a city-dweller, Dean. You're all wheat fields and sunshine and the open road."

"You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy," said Dean.

The following day, they left town, and made their way across the Florida state line within hours.

All three of them were impatient to discover whatever was waiting for them at the end of the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the only story I've written in which I've referenced _The Prophecy_. I think of it as very similar to _Supernatural_ in theme and storyline. If you like _Supernatural_ but haven't seen _The Prophecy_ , go ahead and check it out! (Not to be confused with the movie _Prophecy_ , which is unrelated). 
> 
> The film I am referencing here stars Elias Koteas, Eric Stoltz, Viggo Mortensen, and Christopher Walken as Gabriel.  
> It uses a similar "angels in trenchcoats" theme, and has a darkly sardonic tone like the better Supernatural episodes. The America of _The Prophecy_ also looks a lot more like the America I know. The sequels aren't very good, but the original film is one of my favorites to this day, and I've often wondered if _Supernatural_ was inspired by some aspects of that movie.


	13. Daytona

Daytona Beach had been on Dean's bucket list for a very long time.

The novelty of driving the Impala on hard-packed sand was the highlight of his year.

Dean grinned a little at the way the car got its name. It hadn't _had_ a name, not really. Anyone who loved cars called any car _baby_ \- but people who didn't know any better started calling the Impala Baby like it was an actual name, and it stuck. 

Usually, a car would have a name, in addition to being called _baby_ \- the equivalent of naming a dog Diogi, Dean supposed.

But nowadays, Baby was the name of his car, and much like some nicknames, you couldn't get rid of it if you tried.

Dean had finally pretended to give into Sam's pestering and stay in a fancy hotel. In reality, he'd long wanted an excuse to stay somewhere a little flashier than the motels that he considered part and parcel of the job, so he didn't really resist much.

So here they were - and Sam had insisted on getting separate rooms again, Dean couldn't really say he blamed the guy - in a hotel that looked like a giant mirror, right on the beach.

The view of the water was incredible. The view of the men and women in almost nothing out on the sand made Dean wish he'd gone to college just to have a Spring Break to look forward to.

After suggesting that they go out for dinner at a place called _Big Dick's Crab Shack (Eat Here and Get Crabs!_ ) Sam disowned him for the evening and went off to find his own private salad nirvana.

So it was just Dean and Cas having cheeseburgers in their room overlooking the ocean as the sun slipped below the horizon and the stars came out.

When they were finished, Castiel kept him from flicking on the light. The angel came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist.

"Always wanted to come here, y'know," said Dean softly. "Never got the chance. Always workin'. You know."

Castiel didn't respond, but quietly popped the button of Dean's jeans open. He slowly pulled the zipper down.

Dean's breath was shallow. Anyone could see them up here, if they chose to look, despite the darkness of the room's interior.

"I want you to tell me something," Castiel murmured against his ear.

"Yeah?" Dean rasped.

"When was the first time you touched yourself, thinking of a man?"

Dean's brain was on the fritz, suddenly somewhere between alarmed and horny.

"You put me back together, man," he said on a shaky breath. "Don't you already know?"

"Of course I do," said Castiel, pulling Dean's rapidly-hardening cock free of his pants and giving it an experimental tug. "But I want you to say it. Out loud. Tell me, Dean."

Dean stared down at Castiel's hand moving, tight and sure, on his cock, and bit back a moan.

"Uh - it was," Dean said, as if it was taking him some time to think back and not something that immediately came to mind the second Cas had brought it up.

But sue him, he was just getting used to intimacy in general, let alone the kind of raw honesty involved in intimacy with Castiel in particular.

"Yes?" asked Castiel, and the rumble of that thunderstorm-deep voice seemed to vibrate through Dean's entire being. He was panting and helpless in Castiel's hands, and they had barely even begun.

"It was _Interview With the Vampire,_ " Dean confessed. "Antonio Banderas, in _Interview With the Vampire._ Guess I always kinda had a thing for the dark-haired, dominant type."

"And you tried so hard, didn't you?" breathed Castiel. "Not to give in? Because what would that mean?"

"Yeah," said Dean, sure his entire body was blushing, "but then - I couldn't - I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop thinkin' about - "

"And much like me with you," Castiel said, "you had to find a secluded spot and make yourself come, didn't you?"

Dean nodded, his breath coming in little _ah, ah, ah_ punches of sound as Castiel took him apart.

"I _heard_ you," Castiel murmured, and Dean could feel Castiel's erection against him, a hard line against his ass, "the beautiful broken noise you made when you thought about him and came, your need sated as you painted your hand white. And you thought of him taking control, telling you what to do, dominating you?"

"Yeah - _yeah - oh fuck yeah Cas!"_ Dean howled, fucking into his fist and then coming in strong jets against the window.

"Beautiful," murmured Castiel, thrusting hard against him and then sighing out a low moan, as Dean felt Castiel's cock pulse against him.

Dean looked at him in surprise, that Cas could come from such a simple thing as a little closeness, but Castiel's gaze was still storm-heavy.

"Look at the mess you've made," he said, soft and dangerous. "Now who is going to clean that up?"

Dean swallowed.

"I will," he said, and then took a random stab in the dark. "Sir."

Castiel's eyes darkened, in a good way that promised things in Dean's future he would run headlong to meet.

"That's right," purred Castiel.

Dean went to get a rag from the bathroom.

"And Dean?"

He stopped and turned to look at the shadowy profile of Castiel, standing there in the moonlight from the window.

"We can try the panties too, next time."

Dean did not trust himself to answer.

Castiel had apparently seen everything.

***

After they had cleaned up and were respectable enough to take a walk on the beach, that's exactly what they did.

Dean wasn't all that surprised to run into Sam, jogging toward them from the opposite direction.

"You know, you _could_ take the night off," Dean called with a smile, as Sam slowed down upon seeing them.

"Yeah?" asked Sam, a little out of breath and sweaty from his run. "What did you have in mind? And don't say -"

"We don't have to go to Big Dick's," said Dean. "But come on, Sam! We're finally at the beach. You can't go wrong with tropical cocktails, right?"

Sam grinned.

"I'll go," he said. "On one condition."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You order the frilliest drinks in the bar. With an umbrella. Or a goldfish bowl."

"Joke's on you," said Dean. "I fuckin' _love_ frilly cocktails. Deal."


	14. Bahia Honda

Dean cracked open an eyelid.

The sun immediately stabbed him right through the retina.

Groaning, he pulled one of the million pillows on the bed over his head.

Now it was dark, which was better, but he was also sweaty and gross, which was worse.

Vague flashes of the night before passed across his mind like a shitty picture-show with a broken projector.

Blue drinks in a goldfish bowl...gummy bears, which he ate, of course -

a series of drinks named after various sexual acts -

laughing with Sam at just about everything -

Castiel pulling them back from the ocean when they both decided taking a swim was the best idea they'd ever had -

and that was it.

"Heal me," grumbled Dean into the pillows.

"I might," said Castiel's voice, a soft rumble near his elbow. "For now, drink this."

Dean felt around for the glass of water he knew Castiel held in his hand.

Then he realized that he would have to sit up to drink it.

With a long-suffering sigh, he pulled himself somewhat upright and took the glass without opening his eyes. He drank it all down and then sat there for a moment while his stomach decided if water was an acceptable introduction.

The danger passed; his stomach accepted it. Dean relaxed back into the pillows.

"We're driving to the Keys today," Castiel reminded him.

Dean groaned again.

"I'm never driving anywhere again," he said.

"Dramatic," said Castiel. "And if it wasn't so important that we leave today, I would let you live through this hangover so you would be less likely to overindulge in the future."

"It's like labor, Cas," Dean said. "They say women wouldn't go through with it more than once if they could actually remember the pain. The human mind is a strange thing."

"Hmm," said Castiel, and then reached out to touch Dean's forehead.

The sense of grace fizzing through him was always surprising, but Dean was thankful the pain faded. He felt pretty close to normal a few minutes later.

"Cas - " Dean started, when he felt something bump his hand.

"You can open your eyes now," said Castiel.

Dean did as he was told, and was rewarded with Castiel's handsome features bathed in sunlight, his eyes blue as the sea, holding out a mug of coffee.

"Damn, I love you," said Dean, taking the coffee from him.

And he meant it.

***

After Castiel had performed the same healing trick on Sam, Dean went down to throw their stuff into the trunk of the Impala.

He slammed the trunk down and then leaned against the car, crossing his arms.

He breathed in the sea breeze, and then chucked his jacket into the backseat as an afterthought.

There was something about the ocean that calmed him. He was heartily sick of living in places where he had to wear flannel and jackets and jeans as a kind of uniform. 

Maybe things were changing, in his heart and head. 

He didn't want to live here, not in particular.

But he sure could get used to this.

Sam waved to him as he left the hotel after checking out, closely followed by Castiel.

Dean waved back.

Maybe things were going to be all right.

***

They drove A1A all the way down the state.

Dean swore his way through Miami traffic and was relieved to find himself through the knot of cars just near the cruise ship docks and finally onto the Overseas Highway out onto the islands.

Strangely, he felt stress melting out of him, the same way that Castiel's grace made the pain go away.

 _Huh_.

They passed through Key Largo, where the houses had taken a Keys-style turn in their coral pastel coloring, along with multiple signs written in seashells and starfish.

"Wow," said Dean, and the other two were also strangely silent.

The rest of their lives had been lived entirely in monochrome, like someone had put a filter on the world.

The Keys were full of riotous color, and the deeper they went, the more colorful it got.

After Islamorada and the town of Marathon, the Seven Mile Bridge stood out in all its glory, a thin ribbon of road floating impossibly over the intense turquoise-and-blue of the sea.

"Holy shit," said Dean. "Holy shit. Why have we never been here before?"

"Job never brought us here, I guess," said Sam faintly, who was clearly having the same _Wizard of Oz_ black and white into color moment as Dean.

The Seven Mile Bridge was a feat of engineering. It was a lone road that stretched for miles over the open ocean. 

"In the past, there was a train along here," Castiel supplied helpfully. "The train tracks were destroyed in a hurricane. You can still see a piece of the previous Seven Mile Bridge alongside it. Fishermen use it to catch parrotfish."

"Yeah?" asked Dean, although it was hard to talk with a blown gasket in his own head. He was looking everywhere at once, like he had never known he was starving until this moment. Sam was likewise dumbstruck.

"Yes," said Castiel, nodding. "Parrotfish are an important part of the tropical ecosystem. They eat coral and excrete it as white sand, creating the beautiful beaches."

"What, seriously?" asked Sam. "So all those white-sand beaches -"

"Are parrotfish crap?" Dean finished.

"Yes," said Castiel in earnest. "They are very important creatures. Beautiful, too."

"I'll bet," said Dean. "You know, the supernatural world ain't even as weird as the natural one, sometimes."

"Both worlds are natural to me," said Castiel.

"Guess that's true," said Dean.

They all fell silent again, in order to luxuriate in the glory of driving the Impala on the Seven Mile Bridge across the sea.

***

"I'd like to make a request."

Castiel spoke up. It was the first time any of them had spoken since they'd come off the Seven Mile Bridge onto Little Duck Key. They'd been far too busy taking in the sights around them. They'd never been anywhere like it in their lives, and apart from pointing out interesting sights, there had been little conversation.

"What's the request?" Dean asked.

"Can we overnight here?"

"Cas, buddy, we're like an hour out from the destination."

"Yes, but there's something I'd like to do, and we can arrive in the morning refreshed."

"Uh," said Dean, "well, I _am_ pretty tired, I guess."

Up ahead, as if by magic - or maybe Castiel had just known it was there - a little motel with a gecko on the sign appeared.

Dean pulled into the motor court and he had to admit, getting out to stretch his legs felt pretty great.

What decidedly did _not_ was his clothing.

"Man, it is _way_ too hot to be wearing all this crap," he muttered to himself.

Sam grinned.

"Looks like it's time for you to wear shorts," he said.

"Over my dead body."

"That's possible."

They checked in, again with separate rooms, which seemed to delight Sam to no end.

Dean figured it must be nice for him to have some privacy after all these years, too.

The Seashell Motel on Big Pine Key was just as cute as it looked from the outside. It was a long, one-story building, the old mom-n-pop style motels from the 50s and 60s that Sam and Dean tended to favor although they were now either going out of style or charging out the ass for rooms because people had suddenly gotten it into their heads to have an American road fetish. The Seashell, though, was the tried-and-true old-fashioned design at a normal price, run by an elderly couple. The rooms had a little bowl of fruit on the table, and with the windows all open, a gorgeous, soft wind from the sea blew into the rooms.

"Okay, Cas," said Dean. "You wanted to stop over here. So spill."

"We are going to Bahia Honda State Park," he said, as if he did not expect an argument. "And as Sam said, I would advise swimwear, if not shorts."

"Okay," said Dean. "I still got my swim trunks from Evans Plunge."

Castiel's smile was sharp.

"Oh," said Dean. " _Oh._ You liked Evans Plunge because you wanted to see me naked, huh."

"Same reason as you, I expect," said Castiel. "But I also enjoyed the place for its own sake."

"Yeah," said Dean on a light laugh. "Sometimes I think we ain't so different, you an' me."

"Parrotfish are as important as birds," said Castiel.

"Dude, don't compare me to the beach-making crapfish," Dean complained.

"Why not?" asked Castiel. "They are quite beautiful, Dean -"

"All right, all right," said Dean. "Let's just get to this beach the fish made."

***

Bahia Honda was stunning.

Sam and Dean sat on the beach in their swim trunks, watching Castiel in the water. He seemed to be looking for something.

"Sure makes you think differently about beaches like this, huh?" asked Sam, pushing some sand around with his foot.

"Don't remind me," said Dean, rolling his eyes.

"So," Sam said, a note of caution in his voice. "You and Cas."

Dean nodded.

"Guess so," he said.

He was surprised that he didn't feel embarrassed in the least.

"Makes sense," said Sam. "You're like bookends."

"How do you figure?"

"Hm. Obedient to a father figure to a fault, even though said father figure wasn't worth the loyalty. Rebellion when it mattered. Afraid of flying, afraid of falling. You may as well have been matched from the start."

Dean gave his brother a worried look.

"You don't think -" he began. "That it was written, so - "

Sam shook his head.

"No," he said. "No, I think you were _written_ a certain way, and that you rebelled against that just like Castiel rebelled against his own writing."

"That so?"

"Well, yeah," said Sam. "You were supposed to be this, I don't know, badass hero trope, ladies' man, whatever. But there's always been another side of you. That side you don't show everybody, hell, I hardly knew it was there. But I see it, whenever Cas is around. I think that what you have is all your own."

Dean stared out at the water. He found that his throat had closed up a little. He coughed.

"Thanks," he said. "And for what it's worth, I hope you find her someday soon. Your wife, like in the better heaven."

Sam laughed.

"Me, too," he said. "But it's not the initial goal. I just want to spread my wings, see what's out there for me."

"You can always come back, you know. Hunting. With me an' Cas."

"And I probably will, sometimes," said Sam. "But you deserve a life of your own too, Dean. You've lived it for other people for too long."

Dean gave him a lopsided half-smile.

"You always were the smart one."

They sat together in companionable silence as they watched the water.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

There was a shadow out there, moving toward Castiel.

Slow, with purpose, like it didn't need to rush.

"Sam," Dean started.

"I see it," said Sam.

They both stood up.

"Cas!" Dean shouted. "Cas - "

The hammerhead shark reached Castiel, who put a hand out and touched it. Blue grace glowed in the water as it circled around him.

"What do I do?" asked Dean, halfway between frozen and running into the water.

"I don't know," said Sam. "He's an angel, he'll probably be fine?"

The raised question at the end of the sentence did nothing to calm Dean's nerves.

But as they watched, it was clear that Castiel was communicating with the huge shark, and that he wasn't in danger at all.

Eventually, it moved away from him, and Castiel walked back onto the beach.

Dean would've been staring at the sight of the angel walking out of the water in the low sunset if he wasn't so terrified.

"Thank you," said Castiel as he approached. "She's pregnant, and was worried about her pups. This is a hammerhead mating area and sometimes the sharks get self-conscious. So I wanted to stop by and give them some reassurance. You know how it is."

Relief flooded through Dean, and when he flicked his gaze toward Sam, it was clear that he was feeling the same way.

"Sure," said Dean, in a rough voice that tried to mask his worry. "I know how it is. Sure."

"Ready to go back to the motel?"

"Absolutely."

Dean shook his head as he got behind the wheel of the Impala.

Castiel, who could destroy cities, who could kill with a thought, worried about the self-esteem of hammerhead sharks and dispensed facts about parrotfish crap beaches.

_This was the one his heart had chosen._

For the first time in a long time, Dean didn't worry about his own self-esteem.

Because he knew, without a doubt, that he had excellent taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Castiel says about parrotfish is true. A single parrotfish can make a thousand pounds of sand per year.


	15. Key West

Key West was like something out of a dream.

That was another thing.

Dean hadn't been dreaming at all, lately.

Not since he'd had to go rescue Cas. But maybe that was a good thing.

The Impala drove down palm-lined boulevards along the ocean, and then into the town proper, with its pretty houses and thick-leaved trees. Dean had never seen anything like it, and it was clear Sam hadn't either.

"You know," said Dean, finally breaking the long silence their awe had inspired, "I can't believe this was always here, all along, and this is the first time we're seeing it. I crossed this country so many times, how did I not know it was here?"

Sam huffed a laugh.

"Yeah," he said. "We were missing out."

"Hell yeah, we were," said Dean, and they fell silent again, amazed by the intensity of color.

They checked into a beautiful B&B that was in an old Key West mansion. 

Dean and Cas's room had a balcony that overlooked the crowns of several lemon trees, hiding them entirely from sight. The soft yellow of the walls glowed in the filtered sunlight, and the dark wood of the furniture made a stately contrast to the rest of the tropical decor.

"I could get used to this," Dean said, not for the first time.

Sam's room was at ground level, and he could walk out the French doors right into the swimming pool. Perfect for his exercise obsession, as he talked enthusiastically about taking a morning swim when the sun came up and Dean was usually still buried underneath the pillows nursing a hangover.

"You're nuts," said Dean fondly, and Sam grinned with all his teeth.

Dean hadn't seen his brother smile like that in years, followed by the light laugh that used to be his signature.

Maybe good things really _did_ happen.

***

They spent the day strolling through the town.

Dean was startled to see the number of men who were holding hands, and he mentioned it to Sam and Castiel.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "Key West has always been a place of freedom and acceptance. The United States is not exactly known for it, but this place has always been different."

After they'd had a drink at Captain Tony's and Dean made off-color remarks about the hundreds of bras hanging from the ceiling, they hit a few more bars until they wandered into the Schooner Wharf at sunset.

Dean ate what seemed like his body weight in clam chowder and had more piña coladas than he could really count, after a while. Sam was enthusiastic about the conch fritters and Dean celebrated the fact that they weren't, strictly speaking, very healthy.

The sun set. The bar had mist blowing through fans to cool off the patrons, in this last little piece of Old Key West right on the water in the harbor where the tall ships came in to dock. 

Dean was having the absolute time of his life.

The band started up, led by a throaty female singer.

Castiel held out a hand. Dean stared at it.

"Dean Winchester, may I have this dance?"

Dean looked up at Castiel, a thousand emotions flicking through his mind.

Then he thought of the men he had seen holding hands all day, and the fact that there were men here dancing together too, and nobody said anything about it.

The song's lyrics finally got through his piña-colada-addled brain:

_Damn Those Eyes._

And cautiously, Dean put his hand into Castiel's, and Castiel pulled him up, pulled him against his body in the soft mist from the fans in the heat of the Key West night, and beneath the moon and the stars, near the soft lull of the ocean, Dean swayed to the music with his angel.

For the first time in his life, he didn't care who saw, or what they thought.

When they went back to Sam, who was still sitting at the table, he gave them the thumb's up. They all laughed together, talking until the sun came up and the bar closed down so they had to stumble back to their hotel.

And all night long, Dean never let go of Castiel's hand.

***

The following day was a slow one, syrupy and tropical, where they lazed around in bed and Sam probably took his swim like a madman. 

But Dean and Cas stayed in their room.

The day before, Castiel had purchased a key lime pie from a local bakery, and promised Dean that they could have it for dinner that evening. 

He also told Dean that he wanted to enjoy dinner in the room, and would be bringing something back for him.

"Yeah?" asked Dean. "What is it?"

"A surprise," said Castiel. "You'll just have to wait."

"Aw," said Dean, but he didn't really mind it.

As night fell, Dean eagerly awaited Castiel's return. When the door opened, Dean saw him carrying a box labeled _Blue Heaven_ that smelled, well, like heaven.

Cas placed the box on the table, and then a pillow down on the floor.

He looked at Dean.

"Undress," he said. Dean didn't have to be told twice. 

Naked, standing in the center of the room as Castiel just watched him, still fully clothed, Dean started to feel a little embarrassed.

"Kneel," Castiel directed.

Dean hesitated for a moment, but there was something careful in Castiel's expression, and Dean knew that if he wanted to call any of this off, he'd just have to say the word.

Besides, his dick had already taken an interest in the proceedings, whatever they were.

Dean knelt on the pillow next to Castiel's chair.

He watched, expectant, as Castiel plated up the food.

"You often overindulge," said Castiel softly. "And I do not blame you for it. You've lived a life where you needed to make sure you wolfed down everything as quickly as possible, because it might not be there later."

He speared some food on a fork and held it out to Dean.

"But I want to teach you how to savor things," Castiel said. "Slow down. Appreciate them. Food. Love."

Dean opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the food.

It was lamb in gravy, and mashed potatoes. It was delicious, and had him moaning.

For some reason, it was also very hot. Dean didn't know why.

They spent the rest of the meal in silence, as Castiel traded off feeding himself and then Dean.

Finally, it was time for dessert.

Castiel pressed the side of the fork into the pie, and then held it out.

Dean's tongue wrapped around the tines of the fork, savoring the lime and cracker crust, just as he had been told. He gazed up at Castiel through his lashes.

Dean had been hard for the entire meal. He could see the hard line in Castiel's pants and knew this was working for him as well.

Castiel alternated the food with sips of water, and when the meal was finished, he leaned back, pushing his chair out a little.

"Now," he said, and Dean was startled to see that Cas's breathing was labored; this was apparently far more of a kink for him than it was for Dean.

Castiel unzipped his pants and took out his hard cock. He gazed down at Dean with a dark look.

He didn't even have to ask. Dean leaned forward and took Castiel's cock in his mouth, making him shudder and his hands flex convulsively against the table. He began to thrust slowly into Dean's mouth as he cried out, and Dean's cock gave a sympathetic pulse as he saw how unhinged this was making Castiel, whose eyes were screwed tight and he was pressing against his forehead with the heel of his hand like the sensations were overwhelming. 

Castiel suddenly gave a huge thrust and stuttered against the back of Dean's throat, his mouth dropping open on a long, strange, animal moan as hot come suddenly flooded in spurts onto Dean's tongue.

Never looking away from Castiel, Dean swallowed it all, and then used his tongue to clean his cock. Castiel just stared down at Dean like he'd never seen anything like him before.

Then Dean leaned his cheek against Castiel's thigh and looked up at him.

"May I, sir?" he asked, and Castiel shuddered again like it was an aftershock. "Please?"

Castiel gave one sharp nod, staring down at Dean.

Dean took himself in hand and pressed his face firmly against the fabric of Castiel's pants, breathing in little half-swallowed moans as he fucked his fist and then froze on a sudden yell as he came all over the floor beneath Castiel's chair.

When he came to again, there were tears on his lashes, which he blinked away.

"Don't worry," said Castiel gently, as he tipped Dean's chin up with a finger. "I'll clean up this time. You give me such beautiful gifts, Dean. You're perfect."

Dean just blinked at him. He had nothing to say.

"I believe you've learned about savoring food," said Castiel with a fond smile. "Next time, perhaps we will try savoring love."

He nodded toward the bed.

"Go on," he said. "Get some rest, beloved. I'll finish up here."

Dean stood, shaky on his legs like a young deer, and wandered over to the bed. He crawled under the covers with a grateful sigh, and in the soft tropical wind blowing in from the window, cooling his heated skin, he fell asleep to the sounds of Castiel cleaning up, and for the first time in a very long time, he fell into an untroubled sleep.


	16. Royal Poinciana

The next day, they were all walking along the street when Castiel decided to follow some signs for a garden.

Dean was at peace. So was Sam, as far as he could tell. Something about the tropics seemed to settle in the soul.

When they walked into the garden, they all stopped short.

"This is it," breathed Dean. "This is the place from my dream!"

"Mine too," said Sam.

"And mine," said Castiel. "Except - "

" - the trees - " Sam said.

"Had purple flowers," Dean finished.

Sure enough, the enormous trees arched over the pathways of the park, just as they had in Dean's dream. There were blossoms all over the ground like a carpet, too.

But this time, the blossoms were a bright, fierce red. 

Everything else, down to the park benches and the tables set up here and there, was exactly the same.

Dean stopped a woman passing by to ask her about the trees.

"Excuse me," he said. "Do you know what these trees are called?"

The woman looked up at them and smiled.

"Royal poinciana," she said. "Some people call them flame trees or flamboyants. They're the official tree of Key West."

"So they're not jacaranda?" asked Sam. She shook her head.

"People get them mixed up," she told him. "If they aren't flowering, they look exactly identical. There's one Brazilian jacaranda tree I know of on the island, but here in Key West, you're a lot more likely to have a poinciana than a jacaranda."

"Thank you," said Castiel, and she nodded, going on her way.

They stared up at the trees above them. The wind blew, and more bright red blossoms floated to the ground.

"I don't understand," said Castiel. "How could such a pertinent detail be wrong?"

"Well, maybe it's just based on this garden," Sam suggested. "If it really is a _better heaven_ we've been dreaming about, it could look like anything at all."

"That's true," said Castiel, but he looked doubtful.

"Something I gotta tell you guys," said Dean. "I kinda forgot, what with, uh, everything."

"What?" asked Sam.

"Back when all this started, I thought - well, I was never _sure,_ but I thought that someone had been in our motel room."

Sam gave him exactly the kind of look he had been expecting.

"Dean," was all he said, but it was all he needed to say.

_You know better,_ was the gist of it.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Dean. "But I didn't have any evidence, so I didn't want to freak anybody out."

"We still don't have any evidence," said Castiel. "But it's good that you let us know."

"What about you, Cas?" asked Sam. "Have you heard anything else about the people who were vessels and got sleeping-sickness?"

Castiel gave Sam an embarrassed look.

"I must confess I have been a little distracted," he said. "I haven't checked."

Sam gave him the same sour look, and Dean was impressed. He never looked at Castiel like that.

But it warmed Dean's heart, because it meant that the angel was now officially family.

Castiel had the decency to flutter off and missed most of the brunt of it. By the time he'd returned, Sam was reading a plaque about some flower or another.

"No change," he reported. "More and more have been succumbing, but none of the angels have been able to figure out the cause."

"Maybe they've all seen this better heaven," said Dean. "Can't say I'd blame 'em, you know. For running off. This world hasn't been the greatest."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

But that was the strange thing.

Ever since they got here -

in fact, ever since they started this particular road trip, with its strangely hopeful ghost stories and community-oriented monsters, Dean hadn't minded so much.

Now, he didn't mind it at all.

He just wanted more.

More of this, more of this life, spent with Castiel and his brother. 

Now that they weren't sleeping with one eye open, now that it was just _them_ -

it seemed different, somehow.

"I don't know if they're even in danger," Castiel said. "It seems, overall, there's only been good news, apart from whatever is happening to these former vessels."

"Well, maybe it's time that we accepted it," said Dean. "We could go into retirement."

Sam overheard this and laughed.

"I'd go into retirement," he said. "I doubt you'll ever retire. Hunting's what makes you happy, Dean. And that's okay."

"Thanks, Dr. Spock," said Dean, and waved Castiel's imminent questions away by boldly taking his hand again, right out here in public in the tropical sunlight where anybody could see.

"Walk with me?"

"Of course."

They left Sam to his own devices as they walked along the avenue of royal poinciana together, until it opened out onto the ocean. They stood together in the cool shade of the trees, as the wind blew and the blossoms fell.

"I wanted to tell you something," said Dean. "And I needed to do it away from Sam, or I was never gonna get it out."

"You can tell me anything, Dean," said Castiel, smiling and touching his cheek.

"Okay," Dean said. "You know I love you, right?"

The joy in Castiel's eyes was hard to define.

"If so, then I am truly blessed," said Castiel. Dean grinned and blushed.

"You're gonna give me an ego," he said, then shook his head. "Okay, I gotta get this out, so just - let me talk, all right?"

"All right."

Dean turned away from him, and spoke to the blossoms in the trees. It was easier than looking into Castiel's eyes.

"For the longest time," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I thought there was nothin' much to me. Told a priest, once, on a hunt - that I thought I was gonna haul ass til I ran outta gas, you know? I also told him there were people, feelings, I wanted to explore, maybe even for the first time. I was talkin' about you, Cas. But I never thought I - I never thought I would be worth - you're an _angel,_ for fuck's sake, gotta be a sin, right, gotta be wrong even to _consider_ wanting - sorry."

He sighed. The wind blew. The red blossoms fell.

"And the thing is, I ain't so brave," he continued. "Sure, I'll run headfirst into a den of monsters, but they don't scare me. Not like how I feel about you, Cas. Never like that. Scariest fuckin' thing in the world. And now - "

He rubbed his hands against his jeans, which he still hadn't changed out of, despite the heat.

"Now," he said. "Now, I wonder what took me so damn long. Now, I'm - I don't think about monsters, or ghosts, or killing. I think about - about tropical cocktails, about whether Sam wants to go to the beach. Normal human stuff. And I think about you, and how much I love you, and how -"

This part was taking the most courage, and was the hardest thing he'd ever had to say.

"I'm _happy,_ Cas," Dean confessed. "For the first time in my life, I ain't waitin' for the other shoe to drop. I'm here with Sam, an' with you, an' - fuck, _I'm happy._ No strings attached."

Behind him, he heard Castiel sigh in happiness.

"Oh, Dean," he said. "You don't know what that means to me - what it would mean to any guardian angel."

Dean smiled.

"That what you are?" he asked. "My guardian angel?"

"I've never been anything else."

Dean turned around, Castiel's words giving him a real bravado in place of the false kind he'd relied on for so many years.

"You know, Cas, that's -"

Dean halted.

The pathway behind him was empty.

"Cas?" Dean said, and then with rising panic. "Cas? _Castiel?!_ "

There was no answer.

The wind blew.

The blossoms fell, and made a red carpet at his feet.


	17. The End of the Road

"Sam! _Sam!_ "

Sam came running up to him.

"What?" he asked. "Where's the fire."

Dean clutched at his hair, and could feel tears threatening to fall.

"He's gone, Sam."

"What do you mean?"

"Cas is gone."

Sam stared at him.

"There was a deal," said Dean. "A deal he made with the Empty. That if he was ever _happy_ , the Shadow would come for him."

"And you think it has?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Why?" Sam asked, then shook his head a little. "I mean, why now? I get that you two were dancing around this topic for years - don't look at me like that, Dean, I've got eyes, okay? So what happened to suddenly make him so much happier than he already was because you got together."

Dean sighed, and damn it, there went the tears, tracking down his cheeks without his permission.

And more than just the usual single one. A ton of them. Like once he screwed the lid off it wasn't going back on anytime soon.

"I told him I was happy," he said, miserable. "Sure not anymore, though."

"Oh," said Sam, as if this made complete sense. Dean gave him a puzzled look. "Well, he's in love with you, Dean. You know what they say, if you really love someone their happiness is more important. Their happiness is what leads to your own."

The overwhelming magnitude of this idea made Dean speechless.

He wasn't worth -

there wasn't any reason Cas should have -

but he did, and the evidence was right there in front of them.

Or rather, it wasn't.

"We gotta get him back, Sam," said Dean, voice tinged with desperation. 

"And we will," said Sam. "But you're not thinking straight right now and we need to regroup. We're going to need a plan."

"Sam, I can't," said Dean, but he could feel the truth of it in the panic that had set in.

"Lunch," said Sam decisively. "Right now. Let's go."

Dean just nodded, and followed his brother out of the garden.

***

Magnolia's was a popular restaurant in Key West.

Dean stared into his bowl of Cajun chicken alfredo and thought of Castiel teaching him to savor food. The meal was absolutely delicious, with garlic bread on the side, and Dean tried to enjoy it carefully while not thinking about whether he had lost Castiel forever.

Dean was not one who did not eat when he was upset. He tended to shovel food into his mouth mindlessly. Once a machine, always a machine, and a machine needs fuel. 

This was one of the first times in his life when he'd slowed down to really taste something. He'd never given it much thought before.

And if that was the last thing Castiel taught him - 

he was determined not to let it go to waste.

"This is awesome," said Dean. Sam gave him a concerned look.

"We'll get him back," he said. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, we will."

He was determined to look forward. 

Otherwise, he was going to break hard.

Last time, he'd pretty much offed himself. The job was already dangerous but he'd signed his own death certificate, reckless and stupid, because he'd lost Castiel.

But this particular road trip had been so different, and the experiences they'd had were like they lived completely different lives, and for the very first time, Dean had hope.

_He_ was the optimistic, hopeful one, for once. Sure, Sam was also talking it up, but Dean also felt like all things were not lost despite how they looked on the surface.

They'd all died and come back more times than he could count.

Dying, for the Winchesters, and for Castiel, had never been a forever thing.

Dean was determined to see it through.

And he was determined to savor every delicious bite of the meal, fed in both body and soul.

For Cas, he could do anything. 

And that meant living for him, not just dying for him.

Living for him was the harder option anyway.

"You're taking this surprisingly well," Sam commented, but Dean did not elaborate.

He wasn't sure Sam wanted to know about what went on between his brother and Cas, anyway.

When he'd finished his meal, enjoying every last second of it, really experiencing it, he looked up at Sam.

"I got an idea," he said.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but paid for the meal and followed Dean back out into the sunshine.

***

They were back in the garden, beneath the poinciana trees.

"Dean?" asked Sam, and Dean wondered when everyone started using his name as a language of its own with thousands of meanings.

"Remember when I said that we were running out of country?" Dean asked. "That it seemed like we were being led somewhere, almost in a straight line? And then Tracy told me those trees grew in Florida?"

"Yeah?" said Sam, patiently waiting for an explanation.

"Well, you see that buoy?" asked Dean, pointing out toward the ocean where a striped buoy that said _Southernmost Point of the Continental US_ sat on a little promontory over the water.

"Yeah," said Sam.

"Well, I got a theory," said Dean. "We've spent our whole lives working the continental US, right? What if we're being led past it? Beyond the limits of the States?"

"That would be Alaska or Hawai'i," said Sam.

"Yeah, in the strictest sense," said Dean. "But not for us. We live on the road, Sam. That's the end of the road. The literal end of the road."

"Okay," said Sam slowly. "So we - what? Go out further than that? See what's out there?"

Dean nodded, and then shrugged.

"We get out far enough that it's too deep to touch bottom," said Dean. "I don't know if that's good enough, but given that so much of the rest of our lives work like a story, that's us outside of the USA. Sort of."

"What do you think is out there?" Sam asked.

"I dunno," said Dean. "But it's the logical conclusion to something that's trying to lead us to the end of the road, right?"

"I don't know, Dean," said Sam. "It sounds unlikely."

"Unlikely is kinda our thing, though," said Dean. "Isn't it? Anyway, what's the worst that can happen? We get wet, we feel stupid, we come back here."

"I don't know how this helps us get to Castiel."

"I don't either," said Dean. "But I think we owe it to him to try."

Sam sighed.

"Okay," he said. "I'll try anything, if you think it'll help."

"Easier than research or summoning spells or dying," said Dean.

"Guess so."

***

They waded out beyond the buoy, much to the consternation of the people looking on in Mallory Square. 

Key West was such a weird place, accustomed to weird behavior, that nobody really paid them any mind once they were in the drink. 

"Man, I feel stupid," said Dean, who was starting to doubt his good idea.

"We can turn back," Sam suggested.

"No way," he said. "Not til we've followed this thing to the end."

Soon, the sandy bottom was out of reach, and they were out into deeper water.

"If I drown like this, Dean, I swear -"

Suddenly, they were looking at the dock with the buoy in front of them.

"What the - " Sam began.

Dean punched the air.

"I fuckin' _knew_ it!" he said.

They looked behind themselves, and all there was to see was open ocean.

Dean hauled himself onto land, and Sam followed.

In front of them was an identical garden to the one they just left, except that these trees were filled with purple flowers.

"Jacaranda," said Dean proudly.

They walked toward the garden.

There was someone standing in their path, blocking the way.

Dean would recognize her anywhere.

Sam's jaw dropped.

"Rowena?"


	18. Free Will

"Where is he?!"

Rowena stared at Dean, unimpressed.

"I'll forgive that for now, because of your bereavement, shall we say," said Rowena. "But that's a poor way to greet someone who's trying to help you."

"Help us?" Dean repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Help us how?"

"You may have noticed that you've been leading, let's say, _charmed lives_ for the last little while," said Rowena, walking into the garden and leaving them no other choice but to trail after her.

"That was you?" asked Dean. Sam was strangely silent.

"Yes, dear," said Rowena. "I wanted you to see what a peaceful life was like. Oh, and teach you some appreciation of the women in it, you misogynistic bellend."

"Wow," said Dean. "Thanks."

"I expect you've learned to appreciate them a little more," Rowena said. She stopped beneath the jacaranda trees, which were losing blossoms like it was snowing, soft and purple, royal on the ground. "But I don't hold out much hope, I have to say."

"Get to the point," said Dean.

"All bluster," said Rowena. She reached out and patted his cheek. "But you're a Tunnock's teacake, aren't you? Hard on the outside, marshmallow within."

Dean felt himself turning red, even though he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Very well," she said. "Yes, this place is heaven. The _real_ heaven, or the better heaven, whichever you prefer. Those who have served as angelic vessels in Chuck's silly little religious war have been offered a choice - come here, or stay there."

"Yeah? And what do you have to do with that?" asked Dean, who had noticed the way she spat out the word _Chuck_ like it was distasteful.

"Queen of Hell, his natural enemy and opposite," said Rowena. "I'm amazed that I have to spell these things out for you. I know you're smarter than you pretend to be, Dean. Work with me here."

"Okay," said Dean, casting a sidelong glance at Sam, whose impassive face made him more and more curious with each passing moment. "So you've been doing this, somehow? Why?"

Rowena shrugged.

"Free will," she explained. "And what's free will, without choice? Those people deserved to be able to choose, after what they'd been put through."

"And you gave them that choice?" asked Dean. "With a charm or a hex bag or something?"

"Something like that," smiled Rowena, her lips curving into that familiar sharp smile.

"That was you," Dean realized. "In the motel room. You left something behind, so that we'd all dream of this place. Right?"

Rowena pointed at him in triumph.

"There!" she said, satisfied. "I knew you could do it, if you'd only apply yourself."

She gave him a simpering look like a very proud teacher of a particularly slow student.

"And you were all given a choice," said Rowena. "Dean, Castiel, and Sam. I offered to let Samuel stay with me."

"You?" Dean said, startled. "That was you? Sam's wife?"

"Aye," said Rowena. "A warlock deserves a witch, after all, Dean Winchester."

Dean was really staring at Sam now. He didn't say anything at all.

"Fine," said Dean. "So you brought us all the way down here, and now here we are. What's the point of all this, Rowena?"

"You lost your angel, did you not?" she asked sweetly. Dean could feel his lips pulling downward in an angry frown, but he knew Rowena had nothing to do with what had happened to Castiel. His anger was misplaced.

"Yeah," he said. "And?"

"And," said Rowena, "I'm here to offer you a choice. A _real_ choice, more than the others who have been angelic vessels will ever get."

"And what choice is that?"

"You are representative of the three strata," said Rowena. "Samuel, hell, You, earth. Castiel, heaven. The Shadow of the Empty is willing to return Castiel to your safekeeping."

"Great," growled Dean. "I don't know how you did it, but I'll take it."

"Wait until you hear the rest before you agree," said Rowena. "The tradeoff is that Samuel here stays in Hell. With me. You and the angel will have dominion over the road, and granted eternal life. Samuel likewise."

"No fuckin' way," said Dean. "I ain't makin' that trade."

"Don't you want your angel back?"

"'Course I do," said Dean. "But I ain't givin' up my brother to be tortured for all eternity in his place."

"Oh, no," said Rowena, a dainty hand covering her mouth. "No, perhaps I wasn't clear. Samuel will serve by my side, as my husband. As King of Hell. We will rule together. He won't be tortured."

Dean's mouth twisted in distaste as he watched her drop a wink at Sam.

"Much."

"No deal -" Dean began, when Sam stepped forward and interrupted him.

"Deal."

Dean stared at Sam in shock.

"Sam!" he said. "Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

But Sam had a strangely serene look on his face.

"Free will," he said, "and choice. Reform from the inside, Dean. That's the best offer we've had in a while."

"No, Sam, I'm not gonna let you go and be a - a - I don't know, _boytoy_ or something!"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Rowena's honeyed tones overlaid her smile. Then she looked between the two of them with faint surprise.

"Oh," she said. "He never told you? Hm. Tsk, tsk, secrets, Samuel."

Dean stared so hard at his brother he thought Sam might light on fire.

"Sam?" he demanded. Sam was now doing that stuttering thing where he wouldn't look Dean in the eye.

"We don't have to tell each other _everything_ ," Sam said, grumpy. "Not like you didn't try to hide your thing for Castiel _forever,_ and badly, by the way."

"Okay, fine," said Dean. "So you had some - something with Rowena. But this is a major decision, Sam! This isn't just like, a roll in the hay in some podunk town, where we can roll out the next day!"

"I get that," said Sam, and his face was open and honest. He had that look Dean knew well, where he'd made up his mind. "But I've been wanting things to change for a long time, Dean. I've wanted something different, to do something different."

"Yeah, I thought you meant like, settling down somewhere in, I don't know, Ohio or something," said Dean. "Not becoming King of Hell!"

"I will still be in charge," Rowena put in. "But Samuel will have veto power. We'll work together, as equals."

"I think that's a good trade," said Sam. "Come on, Dean. You know this is the best deal we're gonna get."

"Doesn't seem that great a deal to me," grumbled Dean. Then he looked at Rowena. "So that's it? Sam goes to rule Hell with you, and we never see him again?"

Rowena's smile was softer now.

"I think we can make some arrangements," she said. "Let's say, in spring, when the jacaranda and the royal poinciana bloom, he can come up here to visit with you. Like Persephone."

Dean did not like any of this, but Sam's gaze barreled into him as he gave a minute shake of his head.

"Deal," said Sam again.

"Excellent choice," said Rowena. "And now, to show that I am not an unkind mistress, I will give you the time and the privacy to say your goodbyes."

So saying, she vanished, leaving the two of them alone beneath the snows of the jacaranda blossoms.

***

"You really want to go through with this?" 

Sam's earnest expression was all the answer Dean needed.

"I didn't expect to have to ask you to let me go like this," said Sam. "But think about it. For the first time, we might actually have some say in how things are run."

"If we can believe that Rowena will let you have any say in the matter."

"I think she will," said Sam. "Besides, if it's true that this is about free will, then I'll be there by choice - which can always be revoked."

"You sure about that?" asked Dean. "That ain't really the way Hell works. You remember Crowley and his contracts."

"I do," agreed Sam. "But Rowena isn't Crowley. And neither am I."

"So what?" asked Dean. "We get eternal life, as long as we want it, and the choice to what? Just stop, and come here, to the _better heaven_ , when we get tired of it all?"

"That seems to be the case," said Sam. "But I know you, Dean, and I know Cas. I doubt you'll ever stop hunting, and there's always going to be monsters out there to hunt. I also know myself, and I don't think I could abandon Hell to someone else, given what I know about it now."

Dean jammed his fists into his jeans pockets and stared aggressively out at the ocean.

"I don't know, Sam," he said. "I don't like it. Not at all."

He was silent, as the wind blew softly through the branches.

"But?" Sam prompted.

Dean sighed.

"But," he said, "I've been thinking. I've always felt so damned inadequate around Cas, but not just him. Around you, around just about anybody. When I was tellin' him about how I survived on the road - cheese sticks, beef jerky, how to cook the perfect Kraft mac n' cheez - yeah, I was embarrassed. About who I am, about why an _angel_ would want _me_ of all people, when he knew really important guys - great generals, Greek gods, princes, kings, and here I am with my stupid hope that he'd look at me and see - and want - and here I am in old ripped jeans and hand-me-down plaid and draggin' him around the fuckin' country teachin' him about the stupidest, meaningless shit. People notice when kings die, Sam. Nobody was gonna miss me."

"I would," said Sam. "And none of those kings or generals mattered to Castiel like you do."

"Yeah," said Dean, "but why me?"

"I've said this to you before," said Sam, "but why not?"

"Because!" Dean said. "Because it's stupid! Not only do I know useless information, it's information that's becoming obsolete. What's it matter if I knew how to raise you on so little, how to stay awake on the road, how to pick the right foods to fill us up for cheap, now that every damned gas station in the country has its own little sushi place an' salad bar? I'm a relic, a thing of the past, hell, I'm not sure I could even fix a modern car like I can fix the Impala. Computers are your thing, Sam, not mine!"

"The things you know will always have value, Dean," said Sam. "Sure, they may not build the Eiffel Tower or usher in world peace, but if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here. And the Castiel we know wouldn't be here either. You're the fulcrum that moved the world, Dean, and I don't know why you can't see that when everybody else can."

"Right," said Dean. "Some dumb Midwestern kid with no money and no life was that important."

Sam shrugged.

"Most of the heroes of the Bible were meek," said Sam. "They - and we - are the ones who inherit the earth. You're the righteous man, the one who made an angel fall, the catalyst of the apocalypse and also the engine that stopped it. You're so much more than you think of yourself, to all of us."

Sam suddenly hugged him, tight.

"And you love the road," he said. "And you love Castiel. Let me do this for you, for us. It's not the big ask you think it is, Dean. It's an opportunity."

Dean finally relented, and nodded against Sam's shoulder. He willed himself not to cry.

"Okay," he said. "But the _second_ things start lookin' screwy, you get in touch, all right?"

"Absolutely," said Sam.

Rowena reappeared.

"I hate to rush you," she said, "but there's something of a time limit here. The Shadow doesn't like to be kept awake, waiting."

"Screw the Shadow," Dean groused, but stepped away from Sam and nodded. "Okay, fine."

"Ready?" asked Rowena. She took Sam's hand.

Dean did his best to give his brother a cocksure farewell, just to make him feel better.

"You sure do like 'em short, Sammy," he said, grinning. "Ruby an' Rowena. Who knew?"

Sam smiled back, that old gentle smile that made Dean's heart ache for his brother. He already missed him, even though he was standing right there.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Boys," Rowena said, a light warning in her tone. "See you next spring, Dean. Best of luck with America."

Dean nodded, because he didn't trust himself to say anything. He raised a hand in farewell, and Sam did likewise.

Moments later, he was standing in the other garden, with the red blossoms, and a very confused Castiel next to him.

Wordless, the angel reached out and took his hand.

***

And that was how the boy with the demon blood, in a roundabout way, became the King of Hell, and fulfilled the prophecy after all.


	19. Epilogue

Hobos and tramps, wanderers of all kinds on the American road, know the legend of the righteous man and the angel.

Once upon a time, it was St. Christopher medals -

_go thy way in safety -_

that served as protection for all those travelers and fools for whom God reputedly has a soft spot.

Now, it is the righteous man and the angel who stand first and foremost in their thoughts - 

warriors, wanderers, protectors.

The men who went from hunting down legends to becoming legends themselves.

They say that the righteous man and the angel still travel the highways and byways of America, and they will appear when they are most needed - 

when someone is hopelessly lost, or threatened, or in dire need of salvation -

the low, familiar rumble of an age-old engine,

the tell-tale flap of wings.

And every year, they say, in the springtime, when the jacaranda and poinciana bloom, in the warmest parts of the country -

they are reunited with the brother who rules Hell, who keeps the spirits of the well-traveled making their way to heaven on the singed-black wings of the angel who once harrowed Hell to save the righteous man, as they continue to save those who most need saving, a guarantee of heaven for travelers, for good and the just, the lost and the forgotten, those whose home, like theirs, was the highway.

Eternal, undying, forever,

the righteous man, the angel, and the boy king of Hell,

these sentinels stand watch,

the patron saints of the American road.


	20. Author's Note

I wrote this story because one of the things I find lacking in the show is the specific descriptions of certain regions in America.

I also wrote it because I was a drifter for many years, and I lived on the road, exactly like Sam and Dean, in motels and a car. I went from town to town, working at whatever odd jobs I could find. This was many years ago now, but it was something else to find my own lifestyle represented on television for the first time. It's the reason I didn't like the show as much when they moved to the bunker. Drifting is such an American pastime (it's how much of the country was built, after all, and it depends upon itinerant workers to this day). We've long been an invisible population in the States, so to see our lifestyle represented on network television was a real surprise, and also taught me the importance of representation, feeling _seen_ for the first time.

Dean's advice about driving, about surviving on the road, is my own advice, because that's how I did it. These things are so specific because they are things I've done, places I've been, and the lived experience of surviving on the road. I've enjoyed writing things in their world because it's the very first time I've ever had a platform in which to do so, a platform where other people might read what it was like to live the way Sam and Dean did, written by someone who really lived it. I've said it before, but the America I know is decidedly less white and male than the one represented in the show. But it's the only time I've ever seen it represented at all, so I'll take what I can get.

And yes, my name is also Dean, and my signature karaoke song is _Turn the Page._ So if you're ever at karaoke night in a dive bar anywhere in the States, and someone named Dean gets called up to sing that song -

well, you never know. Might be me. Might not. But between us - it probably will be.

Thank you all so much for reading these stories. I hope they have entertained you and shone a light on what it's like to live the way that Sam and Dean did, from someone who knows.

Hope to see you next time. 


End file.
